


Turn and Run The Other Way

by boo_boo_thefool



Series: Close To The Ground [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Aquaphobia, Drowning, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Inaccuracies, Mild Language, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Not Spider-Man: Homecoming Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent Pepper Potts, Parent Tony Stark, Pepper Potts Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Pepper is his mom sorry i dont make the rules, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker has PTSD, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Whump, for real this time, peter isnt suicidal at all but a couple lines of dialogue could be taken that way if you squint, so im mentioning it here just in case so stay safe lovelies, the biodad homecoming rewrite that you all forced my hand into writing, this thing has turned out much longer than i intended
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 07:50:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18774382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boo_boo_thefool/pseuds/boo_boo_thefool
Summary: After the events concerning Captain America and the Sokovia Accords, the Starks just want to stay lowkey for a while. Alien tech starts to show up on the streets of New York, and Peter discovers that he and his father have different definitions of "lowkey".or: Peter goes through his rebellious phase and finds out just how dangerous a secret can be.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ive never gotten a response as positive as the one i got for cttg (thank you from the bottom of my heart), so when you asked for more i started thinking. how would homecoming go in this universe? one outline later i find the answer: angstier. its so much angstier.

Peter Stark, like his father, cannot sit still for long periods of time. He meant what he said in that hospital room, _close to the ground_ , but Spider-Man _was_ close to the ground. He only dealt with petty thefts, cats in trees, and walking old ladies across streets. Too bad his dad couldn’t see that.

Tony, since the events leading up to and following what happened in Germany, has been rightfully freaked out about the vigilante thing. The mixed signals Peter got from his father made his head spin—vigilante bad, come fight Captain America in Germany, vigilante bad. Peter thought that he had done a good job, but apparently his father had different ideas. At least, if Peter did good, his dad never said anything about it to him.

His father got out of the hospital after a couple of days, complaining about his stay the entire time. Other than the hypothermia, there was nothing potentially life-threatening in his case. Even the hypothermia was mild. So here’s what Peter doesn't understand: why was Happy so freaked out? As the Head of Security for many years, it took a lot to get the man to panic. That’s why Peter cracked when Happy had announced that Tony had been hurt.

So if it wasn't the extent of his father’s injuries, then what was it? Peter figured it had to have been _who_ caused it thanks to Happy’s shifty behavior when questioned on the subject. No matter who he asked, he never got any answer better than _“he fought someone in Siberia but it’s all over now so stop worrying about it”._  Not even Uncle Rhodey, subjected to Peter’s best puppy eyes, would budge. His loyalty to Tony was so strong that not even Peter could crack it.

Peter just wants to know if they’re still in danger. From past experience, secrets don’t go over well with the Starks.

 

-

 

“Care to tell me why there was a Spider-Man sighting this morning?” His dad asks as soon as Peter walks through the door. Tony is sitting at the breakfast bar in their kitchen, sipping on a smoothie and lazily scrolling through something on his tablet. Peter assumes that it’s his email but is corrected upon closer inspection—it’s the spidey-watch Twitter page.

Peter crinkles up his nose, “You’ve got them on notifs?” He asks from over the man’s shoulder. That’s odd, considering that Tony could just have FRIDAY tell him whenever the suit is online.

“I have their notifications on, if that’s what you mean,” his father responds. “Teen slang these days, I swear—”

“Why are you spying on me from a fan account?” Peter questions, dropping his backpack onto an empty stool next to Tony. “You’d think that third-party info would be too unreliable.” He then heads deeper inside of the kitchen to find something to eat but stops short when he hears _unzipping_ going on behind him.

His dad is dissecting his bag with a passion reserved only for the lab. Before Peter can protest, Tony has found the suit that was previously shoved to the bottom of the bag. “How about you answer the question?”

Peter locks eyes with his father and they stay like that for a moment. Tensions have been running high when it comes to Peter and his spider-ing. He’s only allowed to do his _thing_ on every other day of the work week, plus Friday’s and Saturday’s, and only if he’s already finished his homework. He has to be in bed by eleven on school nights, home by midnight on the weekend, and his father can always be found waiting for him in his room if he’s even a second late. Peter’s report card can’t have anything less than a _B_ unless he wants to lose the suit until he gets his grades back up.

“I was going to be late for school,” Peter replies. It’s the truth—he overslept this morning due to being particularly exhausted after the previous night’s high-speed car chase.

“Could’ve called Happy,” his father amends, inspecting the suit for any blemishes. “Or asked me,” he adds on as an afterthought.

“Traffic looked bad today,” now _this_ is a lie. Peter hadn’t checked the traffic at all, he just assumed it would be quickest and easiest if he just swung to school. More fun, as well. “And I would have asked you, but FRIDAY said that you weren’t allowed to drive me anywhere if you hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours.”

Tony only looked a little surprised at that, cocking a brow. “When did I initiate that protocol, FRI?”

“ _It was already in my database when you installed me, Boss. My logs suggest that the ‘_ Baby on Board’ _protocol was enacted by Colonel James Rhodes on October 26th, 2001. It has been triggered fifty-eight times._ ”

“That last part was unnecessary, FRIDAY,” Tony reprimands. “Regardless, people might start putting two and two together if they see Spider-Man heading to Midtown every morning.”

Peter frowns, “It was just this once. Besides, I would’ve had to watch that Cap PSA on tardiness if I was late again.” He then grins and stands up a little straighter, “ _Timeliness, one of the most important concepts in a soldier’s arsenal, is the key to—_ ”

“Don’t,” his father says, massaging at his temples. “I don’t want to hear it.” Tony collects his things and stands before addressing Peter again, “Don’t swing to school unless it’s an emergency. Do your homework—I’ll be working if you need me.”

And with that, his dad is gone. Peter is left alone in the middle of the kitchen, wondering where the conversation went wrong. Wondering how much sleep his father has been getting lately, how many cups of coffee he’s had since he woke up last. Too little and too much, Peter figures, if Tony’s faster-than-usual heartbeat is anything to judge by.

 

-

 

Peter feels a presence on his shoulder.

“Join me, and together… we’ll build my new Lego Death Star.”

“What?” Peter whips around to Ned, making a point to ignore the cheerleaders that make fun of them nearby. “No way! That’s awesome. How many pieces?”

Ned grins at him, “Three thousand eight hundred and three!”

Peter blows out a puff of air, “That’s insane.”

“I know!” Ned is giddy with excitement—the sight warms Peter’s heart. “You wanna build it tonight?”

Peter’s mood sours, “I can’t tonight,” he says, “I’ve got, uh, a thing with my dad.” He takes a few of his books out of his locker and starts down the hall. Ned, as always, dutifully follows.

“Really?” Ned asks, excitement not dwindling despite Peter having just turned down his invite to hang out. “Is it cool? Why am I even asking—of course it’s cool.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter affirms. “It’s cool. I’m gonna get to… watch him do his job. Go to a meeting. Kinda like a shadow thing.” He’s making all this up off the top of his head, but Ned seems to be buying it.

“So you’ll be better prepared to take over the company?” Ned asks it a little too loud, but it’s not incriminating enough to give anything away.

“Yeah, you got it, dude.”

“So, I’ll knock out the basic bones of the Death Star at my place. And then I’ll come by afterwards—”

But Peter stops listening. Down the hall, he spots Liz—leader of the Academic Decathlon team. She’s smart, funny, kind, and to top it all off: one of the prettiest girls at school. She and Peter have been friends for a while now thanks to his involvement with the Decathlon team, but he may or may not have a crush on her.

“—Because for the most part, the difficult thing is the base of it. The top half we can knock out in two hours tops.”

“Yeah,” Peter says. He doesn't know what he’s agreeing to. “Sounds great.”

The bell rings.

 

-

 

School continues without much note. Despite how slow the clock ticks by, the day eventually ends. It’s a Friday, so he gets to patrol today without having to go home to finish his homework first. After stopping by Delmar’s to grab lunch, Peter goes about his patrol as usual. He stops a bicycle theft and an almost car-jacking, along with helping a Dominican lady find her way through the city.

After a couple of hours spent helping the people of New York—mostly Queens, due to his connection to it through his late mother—he stops on a fire escape to enjoy the churro he was given by the Dominican woman. He watches the sun fall below the crest of the city, where it will eventually slip under the horizon. The atmosphere is peaceful—Queens is, as his father would call it, quaint. Despite being the largest of New York’s five boroughs (and the second most populated), everything seems smaller there. People who live in Queens don’t worry about superheroes or secret identities.

He idly wonders what his life would have been like if he really was Peter Parker, born out of Queens.

But he doesn't have any time to ponder on it, because it seems that superheroes have arrived in Queens after all. Across the street, four men enter the now closed Queens Community Bank.

“Finally, something good,” Peter says to himself, switching out his web fluid. He swings over to the building but doesn't immediately enter, figuring it would be best if he stay out of sight for the time being.

The four men are wearing plastic Avengers masks from Party City—Hulk, Thor, Captain America, and his dad, of all people. But here’s the kicker: Hulk and Captain America both have these giant, high tech weapons. Iron Man stands watch, toting what Peter assumes to be a shotgun. The thieves talk amongst themselves, Hulk using what _must_ be a laser gun to cut into the face of an ATM. Captain America follows this up a gun of his own that he uses to pull off the face of the ATM—probably anti-gravity tech. Peter’s never seen anything like it before.

He drops down from where he’s hanging upside-down from the roof and enters the back. Striking an awkward pose, he asks, “What’s up guys? You forgot your PIN number?”

They all turn to him, and Iron Man immediately stalks forward, unloading his gun. Before Peter has the opportunity to get shot by a man who has stolen his father’s identity, he shoots a web at the gun and whips it away, the gun striking both Iron Man and Thor across the face. Thor recovers quickly and winds back an arm elbow Peter in the face, but Peter swiftly takes the man by his arm and redirects it so that he punches Hulk instead.

“Thor, Hulk, good to finally meet you guys,” Peter says, jumping to the ceiling with practiced ease. He sticks an outstretched foot to Thor’s chest and swings him backward into the glass _identity theft_ advertisement behind them. “Well, I’ve met Dr. Banner, but I’m not sure that it counts in this situation.”

He repositions himself so that he’s hanging from the ceiling and when he turns, he’s face to face with Iron Man. The impostor tries to punch him a few times, but Peter easily avoids them, quipping, “Iron Man! Hey, what are you doing robbing a bank? You’re a billionaire.”

Once Peter grows tired of dodging the man’s aimless punches, he grabs the man by the fist and flings him back into Hulk. During the interaction, however, Captain America manages to grab the anti-gravity gun once again. Peter jumps at him to take it back, but he’s too late. Cap aims the gun at Peter and fires, leaving Peter suspended in the air.

“Hey!” Peter protests, voice distorted and warbled. “Oh, this feels so weird!” He is promptly thrown into the glass advertisement and lands on top of Thor. Before he has a chance to recover, Peter is once again caught in the gun’s sights and is repeatedly thrown between the floor and the ceiling.

Luckily for him, he gets the opportunity to grab ahold of the floor with his sticky fingers. Peter uses this moment to fire a web at a nearby desk and pulls it towards the fight, knocking it into Captain America, who drops the gun.

Peter flips up to the wall and surveys the scene. Money is scattered everywhere, but all four of the men have been knocked down. He’s about to web them to the ground when Thor stands, but the man hardly has a second to react before Peter jumps to the opposite wall and shoots a web his way, sending him back to the ground.

Right where Iron Man’s shotgun had been discarded without a second thought.

Peter’s danger-sense blares in the back of his head as the man grabs the gun and spins to face him. Peter shoots a web at the man’s face, knocking him back to the ground, but the action is too little and too late. As the man falls backward, he presses onto the trigger of the gun—whether by accident or on purpose, Peter isn’t sure, but he does know that he’s been hit. At least a little bit.

Well, probably a lot with how his left thigh is feeling at the moment, but he’s got other things to worry about. Iron Man recovers the anti-gravity gun and charges it up, but Peter fires a web at it and the man holding it, leaving him stuck to the wall and the gun out of commission. Peter jumps back to that wall to get a peek under the man’s mask, the motion jarring his leg and sending white-hot pain through his body.

But then he hears the laser gun charging up behind him. Peter only has enough time to get himself and Iron Man out of harm’s way before a laser, which seems to have been turned up a bit, shoots through the glass of the bank. The kickback sends Hulk flying, which causes even more damage since the laser is no longer stationary. It cuts through the bank and slices up a building across the street, which bursts into flames.

Peter webs the remaining robbers to the floor before turning his attention to the aforementioned burning building across the street. The sight sends Peter reeling, but not for the reasons you might think.

“Mr. Delmar…”

Peter sprints out of the bank and across the street, ignoring the pain in his leg that has been consistently getting more and more unbearable. Delmar’s Deli is filled with heat and smoke, but Peter doesn’t let that phase him. He immediately grabs Murph the cat from his perch on the counter, the animal frozen in shock—too scared to move. In the meantime, Mr. Delmar emerges from behind the counter, wheezing and coughing like there’s no tomorrow.

Peter helps the man up and drags him outside by his arm. Once to the relative safety of the street, Mr. Delmar braces himself against a streetlamp on the edge of the sidewalk. Peter makes no delay to limp over to him to return the cat to his owner.

“You gotta—you gotta call the police,” Peter pants out, more due to pain than exhaustion. “Someone will pay for your shop, I promise, but I need to… I need to get out of here.”

Mr. Delmar—now clutching onto his cat—nods, but doesn't stop coughing. Satisfied with the answer, Peter steels himself for more pain before shooting a web at the top of a nearby building and sends himself flying.

Peter knows that it takes about twenty minutes to swing from Delmar’s to his apartment in Manhattan., but he’s never done it with a gunshot wound before. He’s never even been shot before now. Peter hasn't taken a moment to inspect the state of his leg, but he has the feeling that even if he could make it home in a timely manner—pain be damned—he might still be in trouble if he loses enough blood. Peter took honors Anatomy and Physiology—he knows what happens when you take a hit to an artery.

The boy can’t bring himself to look, though, so he just keeps running. Every step is agony, every leap sending a shock up his spine. Now that he’s out of immediate danger (from oncoming attackers, at least), he can feel himself start to panic.

Peter has never felt anything as horrible as this—not even his sickness when he got bit by that spider can compare. His entire thigh feels as if it has been torn to shreds. Every second is torment, but he knows that his father has been through worse. That his uncle has been through worse. Even Happy and Pepper have, without a doubt, gone through something that would put Peter’s pain to shame. So he grits his teeth and continues.

There aren't many super tall structures in Queens that he can swing from, so it’s faster to just run along the tops of buildings and web between the ones he can reach with a jump. Giant skyscrapers loom in the distance, but they are still much too far for his liking. His stomach fills with dread at the thought of not making it home in time.

God, what he wouldn't give to be building the Lego Death Star with Ned right about now.

The next building is a little taller than the one he’s currently on and there’s a sizeable distance between the two, so Peter aims for its apex and jumps. Nothing happens.

It isn't until the last possible second that Peter realizes he never refilled the web-shooted on his left wrist before he went after the men at the bank. Needless to say, Peter is now falling. Just like his father said would happen, his strings have been cut.

Again, the buildings in Queens aren't as tall as the ones in Manhattan, and he should count himself lucky that he hasn’t just leaped off of an apartment building. Peter has no doubt that he could survive the fall on a good day. Even an average one, he’d get off without much more than some bruising and maybe a few fractured or broken bones. It’s not the fall that Peter’s worried about.

It’s about whether or not Peter is strong enough to get back up.

But he doesn't have to worry about that for long, because something cold and hard slams into his body like a wrecking ball. Something metal.

All the air has been knocked out of his lungs, and he screws his eyes shut. Peter holds on for dear life as he accelerates through the air, hoping and praying that this is what he thinks it is.

“I swear to God, kid, you’re going to give me an aneurysm.” There is no mirth in his father’s voice, but the sound of it still brings Peter immense relief. “But I’ll save my shouting for until after I know you’re in the clear.”

His father supports his lower back and pulls him in closer as they speed up. Peter has the urge to wrap his legs around the man’s waist to better secure himself, but the burning in his left leg prevents him from doing so. All he can hear is the white noise of the wind rushing around them. It’s deafening, but part of Peter relaxes at the consistent sound. No sirens, dogs barking, car horns blaring, children screaming. Peter buries his head in the crook of the Iron Man suit’s neck and—

“Nope!” His father’s voice rings out clear over the wind and he squeezes Peter just a bit too hard. “No sleeping on the job, buddy. You’ve got a meeting with a certain Helen Cho—”

Peter checks out.

 

-

 

“If you ever make me do that again, Stark, I will never do another job for you as long as I live—”

“I understand, I’m so sorry—”

“Operating on an unknown enhanced child! I cannot believe you! No testing, no files, we don't even know how he ended up like that and you just waltz in and demand that we fix him!”

Peter comes to slowly, and then all at once. The first thing that he’s aware of is the pain. His upper leg feels like someone used a cheese shredder on it, as opposed to the meat grinder-like sensation he was experiencing earlier. The ache is dull, but it still burns like it had happened just five minutes ago. There’s a pinch on the back of his right hand, which he assumes is an I.V., but if it’s administering any drugs they aren't doing anything. Peter thought that hospitals were supposed to make the pain go away.

The second thing is the argument going on outside. Well, it’s more his father being yelled at than an argument. The woman fighting him reminds Peter of Pepper—unafraid to get right into Tony Stark’s face and tell him how it is. But it’s not Pepper. Peter doesn’t recognize her voice and when he cracks an eye open he finds that he’s alone in his hospital room. Strange—he could have sworn they sounded closer.

“ _B_ _oss, Mr. Parker is awake._ ” And apparently, the woman doesn't know who he is either. At least, she’s only aware of one of his secret identities.

“If you’ll excuse me, Dr. Cho,” his dad says. His voice is as slick as ever, and Peter is surprised that the man has managed to keep his cool for so long.

Dr. Cho sighs, “He shouldn’t even be awake yet, considering everything that we’ve given him. I should really check on him first—”

“Just a minute,” Tony says, sounding a little more frantic now. “He’s fine for the time being, right FRIDAY?”

“ _M_ _r. Parker’s vitals are remaining steady. His heart rate has sped up slightly since waking, but that is as expected.”_

Dr. Cho makes a non-committal hum, but his dad continues. “Just a couple of minutes, then you can do whatever you want,” he repeats.

Neither say anything else for a moment, but at some point Cho must have agreed because Peter can hear his father heading his way. Part of him wants to pretend to be asleep but he knows that the attempt would be useless. Before Peter knows it, his father’s footsteps speed up and the doorknob is turning.

When his dad peeks in, they just stare at each other at first. Peter really hopes that his lecture can wait until after his pain subsides because he doesn't know if he can handle that and getting yelled at by his father at the same time.

Something on Peter’s face must give away that he’s focussing on the pain again because his father immediately steps inside, locks the door, and asks: “How bad is it?”

Peter lets out the sigh that he didn't know he was holding back, “Bearable.”

Tony grabs a plush armchair that was situated in the corner of the room and drags it over to Peter’s bedside, the noise making him cringe. His father plops down and leans over the side of the bed, resting his head in his hands. “That’s a lie and we both know it. Let’s try again.”

Peter grimaces, wishing more than anything that he could curl up and hide under his blanket without the pain that would accompany such movement. Instead, he covers his face with his hands and lets out a low rumbling noise—one that resembles the sound of thunder on a sleepy morning.

“That’s what I thought,” Tony says, looking to the monitors and I.V. bags situated next to them. Checking Peter’s dosage, presumably. “We should have had you checked out sooner. We don't have any pain meds that work super well on you and all the doctors refuse to overdose you, even though we all know that you’d be fine if you had a little bit more.”

“So we’re at the compound?” Peter murmurs into his pillow, which he has now pulled out from under his head and is holding to his face. “What about Cap’s stuff?”

Peter doesn't hear anything back from his father immediately, but he does notice that the man’s heart has skipped a beat. “We already tried,” he says. “You’re mutated. It didn't work because your DNA has changed. Cap’s stuff doesn't want to play nice with your stuff.”

Peter just grumbles from behind his pillow, so Tony continues, “We’re working on it, though. You just have to tough it out this one time and you’ll be all good.” Peter hears him drum out a beat on the rail of the bed. “But, between you and me, you won’t need it anytime soon. You and I need to have a talk—I’m not letting this happen again. The only time you should be needing your super-spider drugs is when you get your wisdom teeth out.”

“ _Boss, Dr. Cho is requesting entry. She says it has been more than a couple minutes, now._ ”

“But we can save that for when you’re coherent enough to give me your full attention. I figure you’ve learned your lesson for now,” he finishes. “Let her in, FRI. Don’t forget I’m just your boss when we’re at the compound, Pete.” Peter groans again.

FRIDAY unlocks the door and Helen Cho enters his room in the medbay swiftly, as if she’s been waiting outside this whole time. Peter peeks out from his pillow and gives a strained smile to her. The longer he’s awake, the more aware he becomes, the more his pain worsens.

“Hello, Mr. Parker,” Dr. Cho starts. “My name is Helen Cho and I am very pleased to meet you again.”

Peter frowns, shaking her outstretched hand. “Again?” He doesn't ever remember meeting this woman before, but she smiles and takes it in stride.

“You weren't exactly coherent at the time, I believe.” She says.

Upon Peter’s dawning look of understanding, Tony adds: “You dissociated at some point, but no one could get you down once you came out of it. I’m not surprised you don’t remember—you were acting pretty erratic.”

Peter winces but Cho continues, “Not your fault, of course. I can only imagine what I would have done if I got shot, point blank, with a shotgun at the age of fifteen. Even if it was just birdshot—you’re lucky. If you weren't enhanced and if Mr. Stark hadn’t found you, you wouldn’t have made it.”

Hearing that makes Peter’s stomach flip. His dad is never going to let him leave the house again after this.

“But,” Helen says, flipping through the clipboard she has in the crook of her arm. “Your healing factor is off the charts. I’ve never seen anything like it and I specialize in genetics, so I see a lot of mutants and enhanced. Your wound was almost closed up by the time you got here—the pellets were still inside. That combined with our lack of meds for you made treating you pretty difficult.”

“Brucie would have had a field day with you, kid,” Tony says, bittersweet. “You and him could have been radioactive buddies.”

“How’s the pain?” Dr. Cho asks him. “You seem distressed.”

Peter looks down and notices that he’s been clutching his pillow with an iron grip. He takes a deep breath and tries to relax, but doesn't get very far. “It kinda burns. Like, a six out of ten.”

“That means eight-and-a-half,” Tony says.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter protests. Calling his father by his last name has almost become second nature to him now, for how long he’s had to do it.

“Fine. Eight-and-a-quarter.”

Helen glances down to the same monitors that his father was looking at earlier. It must be his dosage of morphine (or whatever it is that they’re giving him), but it works as well as straight saline might. She hums, then turns up a dial just a little bit after a moment of deliberation. As if that will do anything to him.

“Your metabolism is a fickle thing,” she says. “But I figure that won’t do any harm. We’re already working on something for you and it should be done soon, but in the meantime I suggest you try to get some rest. Time will fly by if you’re asleep.”

“Haven’t I slept enough?” Peter whines. “What time is it, anyways?”

“Late,” his father replies. “Or early Saturday morning, if you want to look at it that way.”

“Do what you want,” Dr. Cho says, shrugging. “It’s either go to sleep or lie here and do nothing for a couple of hours.” Peter really doesn't want to go to sleep, but the thought of soaking in his pain sounds like torture. “I’m going to go see how the team is getting along. Have fun entertaining your intern, Stark.”

Once Helen is gone neither father nor son speak. Peter hugs his pillow tightly and screws his eyes shut again. He can tell that his dad wants to lay into him then and there, but he’s holding back because Peter’s hurting. It’s the last thing Tony ever wanted to see—his son suffering—and Peter thinks that if he really were just an intern, Tony would be acting smug as hell right about now. His dad told him something like this would happen, Peter promised it wouldn't, and then it happened not even six months later.

Tony reclines in his chair and props his feet up onto the bed. “Too many hospitals,” he utters. “Too many medical facilities for one lifetime.”

“Yeah,” Peter breathes. He has the feeling that sleep won’t find him easy tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and his dad have a chat. Ned puts together a puzzle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me apologize in advance for how dialoge heavy this one is

The first time that Peter tries out his new pills, he’s nervous. He hasn’t needed to take any medicine in ten months, the last time he tried being when he got bit (in the early stages of his mutation, when he could still stand without the room turning on it’s head). He’s worried about how it will affect him, but he’s really getting tired of the pain in his leg, so he tries it anyway.

Dr. Cho and a team of scientists made them, so what’s the worst that could happen? They’re the same people who made Captain America’s drugs, so they should know what they’re doing. 

It was his dad, of all people, who requested that they make pills for him. For some reason, he really seems to want to get out of the compound and back home. Peter agrees, he really hates being cooped up in one spot, but the fact that his father isn't trying to get Peter to stay for a month is strange. Back when Peter still had asthma, his father would insist that he stay at the hospital for days longer than necessary after a particularly bad attack.

Peter thinks staying at the compound makes him uneasy, but he doesn't comment on it. 

It’s not like Peter needs to stay in the medbay any longer, anyway. His leg was already mostly healed by the first time he woke up, and now the only visual proof that something happened were a couple of scars (that would fade with time, as they always do) and what looked to be a sunburn. It just  _ hurts.  _ His leg is sore from both being shot and the operation that was done on him while he was unconscious, no anesthesia in sight. 

So, pills. 

They have him take one at first, just to be safe, and he swallows it without much fanfare. Dr. Cho stays to keep an eye on his condition for fifteen to twenty minutes (presumably to make sure that he doesn't die) but leaves after, promising to stay close by if they need anything (if Peter suddenly dies, he figures). After that, it’s just him and Tony.

After thirty minutes, the pain has turned into a dull throb. Peter almost feels like he could get up with minimal discomfort but instead he uses the opportunity to change positions on the bed. He’s been lying on his back for what feels like years, the only relief from the stiffness being stints of sitting upright. He turns onto his right side to face his father, and the man in question looks at his from over his tablet. 

“So it’s working, huh?” He quirks a brow and fights back a smirk. Seeing the man so pleased makes Peter want to grin, as well. At the moment, he could easily forget how mad his dad probably is underneath all his worry. “No weird side effects?”

Peter hums, thinking the question over. The pain in his leg is comparable to a burn one might get while cooking. He can feel his pulse radiating from that particular spot, but he could easily ignore it if given the right distraction. However, the more the drug soaks into his system, the more off he feels. 

“I dunno,’ he admits. Usually, he’d just come out and say he was fine, but considering that he was currently on a drug that was created in mere hours, he decides not to risk it. “I feel kinda weird.”

Is dad gives him a pointed look as he sets his tablet down, “Define ‘ _ weird _ ’.”

Peter pulls his arms in closer to his chest as if trying to conserve warmth. “I mean, it doesn't hurt that bad anymore. But the more time passes, the more… not right… I feel.” 

“You’re killing me,” his dad says, deadpan. “As every second passes that you fail to describe this, years are shaved off my life. Do we need to call Dr. Cho?” 

“No!” Peter scrambles to sit upright, and the room starts spinning as a result. He puts his head in his hands in an attempt to stabilize himself, but even in the dark he feels like he’s on a teacup ride. 

“Pete? You with me?” 

Peter takes a moment to regain his bearings, though not completely, before he speaks “Yeah, Dad, I’m with you.”

“Care to tell me what that was about?” 

He really doesn't feel like answering more of his dad’s questions, but Peter knows that the alternative is him calling Dr. Cho back. No offense to her, but he’d rather have Tony Stark, the father, in the room than Tony Stark, the aloof boss. 

“Just feel kinda heavy all the sudden, is all,” he says. “I think I just got up too fast—I haven't moved that fas in, like, a day.” When he peeks up at his father, he can tell the man is trying to decide whether or not to buy Peter’s excuse. Peter hopes he will because he really doesn’t feel like dealing with much bullshit at the moment. 

Tony leans back in his chair, finally satisfied with Peter’s response. “You haven't even been here an entire day yet. If all goes well, maybe you can sleep in your own bed tonight. You gotta tell us if you feel nauseous, though, okay?”

And all does go well. Within a few hours, Peter gets over his sea-sickness and he is free to return home. Dr. Cho hands over a bottle of pills (clearly labeled so that no normal human would take one) and tells him to take it easy. If their math is correct, his metabolism burns through the medicine after nine hours, so he shouldn't’ take more than two in that period of time. If the pain gets to be unbearable he can take two, but Dr. Cho advises him against doing that too often, lest he become dependent of them. 

Walking is a nuisance, but by the time he and his father make it to the garage, he decides that it’s something he can live with for a little bit. If everything goes according to plan, this whole incident should be behind him in a week’s time. 

The long drive back to the city, though. That’s more unbearable than the pain in his leg when he walks for too long. 

Now that they’re alone (for real) and Peter is essentially in the clear, his dad has the liberty to go off on him at any moment. Peter’s expecting it the whole time, but the only noise that emanates from the car is the classic rock that plays softly through the speakers. You wouldn't think that Tony Stark would listen to his music at a low volume, but Peter has had full jurisdiction over how loud anything is since he got bitten.

“When are you gonna yell at me?” Peter asks when they can see skyscrapers on the horizon. The sun went down a little while ago, but Peter is bummed that they weren't Upstate long enough to see the stars. “‘'Cause I’ve been waiting on it for, like, an hour, and it’s starting to make me anxious.”

Tony is looking straight ahead at the road, “I’m not going to yell at you. I don't like doing it—I’ve never gotten pleasure from it.” 

Peter frowns, “I didn’t insinuate that you did.”

Tony’s lips form into a grim line and his hands tighten around the steering wheel, but his voice never rises above a casual level. “How about we do the part where you defend yourself and tell me what the hell you were thinking?”

“Oh!” Peter squirms in his seat. He honestly wasn’t expecting his dad to actually listen to his side of the story. “Well, I was on patrol and everything was going fine. A normal day—I stopped a bike thief, that was cool. There was also a lost lady who I helped—she bought me a churro from that really sweet stand off of West 32nd—”

“The bank, Pete,” Tony interjects. “Let’s skip to that part.” 

“I’m sorry about the damage,” Peter atones immediately. “But—oh my god.” Peter freezes, remembering a key aspect of his story. “There were these weapons! These high-tech, glowing weapons! The robbers were using them and they were  _ insane.  _ The damage was caused by one that literally shot lasers, but they had a different one that didn’t obey the laws of physics at all.” 

When he looks to his father, the man has his brow furrowed. “You’ve probably seen the footage, though, haven’t you?” Tony nods. “So what are we gonna do about it?” 

His father is knocked out of his deliberation, “We?” He asks, sounding skeptical. “Oh, there’s no  _ ‘we’  _ in this. We aren't gonna do anything. All you need to worry about at the moment is recovering. Taking it easy.” 

“What?” Peter screeches in that way only teenagers can. “But, the weapons! They’re in Queens!”

“And I’ll look into it,” Tony says. “But you literally just got shot, so maybe let’s take a breather for a little bit.”

Peter huffs, “Are you talking about Spider-Man? I’m not going to stop that. You can’t make me—” 

“Slow your roll, cowboy.” His father is starting to sound a little ticked off. “First, I didn't say forever, just until you’re all good—”

“I am all good!” Peter interrupts. He is among a small group of people who can do that without having to fear the wrath of Iron Man. “Out of the hospital, you don’t see me complaining!”

“Okay, I didn't even want to talk about this tonight but here we are.” As they enter the city, traffic builds up. That’s New York on a Saturday night, for you. “What kind of father am I? I let you do this shit, you get hurt, and I don’t stop you. What more do you want from me?” 

As the car comes to a stop, so does Peter. He hadn’t thought of that. “You’re good. You know that,” he says, softly. “You know this wasn’t your fault. You’re a good dad.”

“Of course you’d say that,” his father adds darkly. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel—with the standstill traffic, neither can really avoid the topic. “It might not be my fault, but it’s still on me.”

“That’s the same thing, Dad—”

“It’s not,” Tony looks at him and shakes his head. There’s a deep hurt in his father’s eyes, one that hadn’t turned up until recently. “It’s accountability, Peter. I gave you that suit. I got you involved.”

Tony could be so stubborn, sometimes. “I was already involved—”

“But I didn't stop you, did I?” His father gives him one last poignant glance before returning his eyes to the road. “And I will stop you. The second you step out of line, I will stop you. Don’t say I can’t, because nothing can keep me from keeping you safe. Not even you.”

 

-

 

Sunday morning, Peter’s horrible ache returns. It’s expected, since he spent about sixteen hours in bed, took his pain reliever, walked around, and went to sleep before the reliever wore off. After he wakes up, he spends about thirty minutes in bed wallowing in self-pity and texting Ned. Eventually, FRIDAY asks him if he needs any help, so Peter decides to get up. He takes a pill and comes to the conclusion that he should probably take a shower. He feels kind of nasty after everything that has happened and he’s planning on going to school tomorrow, something his dad will most likely be against. Peter won’t let that stop him, though. You’d think that, as a teen, Peter would be all for skipping school.

His shower is comically short, however. He gets himself cleaned up in record time, thanks to his leg’s protests. He probably should have waited another thirty minutes for his super-Advil to kick in before he attempted long-term standing. 

Peter dresses in loose-fitting clothing after his shower, so that he doesn't aggravate his wound, and heads down the hall to the kitchen. They’ve owned this particular apartment since 2012—no coincidence there—Peter lived at the tower until it was damaged in the alien attack and they moved here to protect his identity from the Avengers once they decided the tower would be their home, too. Peter still stayed over there on occasion whenever most of the team was out (at least, the part of the team that didn't know about him. So, everyone except Natasha and Bruce), but there had been too many close calls for them to stay full time. Sure, Tony moving out of the tower full time immediately after everyone moved in was suspicious, but they all figured it was his aloof attitude to blame—he’s not a team player, after all.

All of this, however, means that this home contains the memories associated with that fateful Christmas. The one he spent curled up by the floor to ceiling windows that overlook the ocean, bathed in colorful lights with a broken heart. 

As he’s grown older, become more aware of the world he lives in, he finds more unease surrounding the fact that only a handful of people know who he is. Tony Stark’s son is nonexistent and untraceable to all but a few. So, there is a chain of command when it comes to who takes care of Peter. If something happens to his father, Peter gets passed down to Pepper. From Pepper he is traded over to Rhodey, who passes him along to Happy. God forbid anything happen to Happy. 

But that winter, something did happen to Happy. Every single one of his family members was down for the count, whether presumed dead, missing, or hospitalized.

There was one other adult who Tony willingly told about Peter’s existence, though. And he just happened to live a short drive away. Bruce Banner. 

From what Peter can gather, Bruce was told because his father wanted someone who wasn’t scientifically inept to brag to about his son’s many accomplishments. At least, that’s what Uncle Rhodey said. Bruce was trustworthy, Tony’s closest friend on the team, and good with kids, apparently. Peter has heard that it was Natasha who told Tony this, but he’s not so sure on that fact. Something about experience in India. 

So, Christmas Eve spent crying while Bruce Banner sits on the floor next to him, rubbing his back. He once said that he wasn’t  _ that kind  _ of doctor, but Peter thought that he had done a good job, considering the situation. Knowing what he does now (that his father is alive and that everyone is okay), Peter can say that it was a good bonding experience for the two of them. It’s not often Peter is allowed to be close with a new person—one he doesn’t have to pretend around. 

Needless to say, their apartment reminds him of  _ the bad time _ on occasion, and he misses Bruce. His father never told him what really happened with that one. 

“Peter?” He snaps out of his haze and finds his father sitting at the kitchen bar again. “You’ve been staring at the bay for two minutes.” Oh. That must have been why he had been thinking about the bad time. Large bodies of water tended to do that to him. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” Peter says, despite the burning in his leg. “Never better.” 

“How about that leg?” Tony asks, getting up and retrieving a stack of pancakes from the oven which had been keeping them warm. Clearly, it wasn’t only FRIDAY who expected him to be up sooner.

“Could be better, if I’m being honest.” He starts to head for the fridge to grab some maple syrup, but his father motions for him to sit instead—he should get hurt more often. “I mean, I can handle it.” 

Tony hums in a skeptical manner but slides Peter his plate anyway. “You’re gonna eat,” he says, hands on his hips. “And I’m gonna talk.” 

“Oh God,” Peter says, muffled by the food he’s already shoveled into his mouth. 

“You bet,” he leans over the bar and gets in close to Peter’s face. “What happened last night? Never gonna happen again, you hear me? You get so much as a papercut, you call me. I don't care if your phone is dead, ask your mask to call me and it’ll patch me through.” Peter doesn’t have the opportunity to comment on how cool that is, because his father continues, “So, no Spider-Man for two weeks—”

“Two weeks!” Peter exclaims, mouth yet again full.

“Yes, two weeks. It seems reasonable to me, what with you still recuperating and the wedding I’ve got to be at next week.” Ah yes, he had forgotten about that. His father had been invited to a wedding in India nearly a year ago and the time has now arrived. “So, if something happens to you while I’m gone, then what?” Peter must look noticeably downcast because his dad goes on to say: “You’ve gone longer without it.”

Peter hates that his dad is right. He spent months waiting for his father’s blessing after he first found out what was going on. But that was different—now, there are dangerous weapons on the streets of Queens. If someone got hurt because he was gone—

“I don't like the glint in your eye,” Tony says, making Peter glance up. “I really don’t like it. It reminds me of  _ me _ , which is never a good thing.” 

“It’s nothing,” Peter waves his fork absentmindedly. “So I’m staying with Pepper next week?” Since the split, Peter sees Pepper less but their time together is more precious. It’s a good break from the life of a superhero’s son. Pepper’s apartment is modest and homier than his actual home. At least, his apartment with his dad was homey when the square-footage to occupant ratio was larger. While Pepper was into the modern, minimalist style of home, she wasn’t a fan of unused space. It was smaller, but still classy.

“Yeah. We already had it worked out… before. So she planned all her trips around it.”

“Good for her.”

“Good for  _ you _ ,” his father retorts. “'cause your Uncle Rhodey is still doing P.T., and Happy is busy preparing for moving day.”

Moving day. Tony knew Peter’s stance on selling the tower, but seeing that Peter was just a kid, his opinion didn't matter. But, with all Avengers business being moved Upstate and Stark Industries not needing that much space, his father decided to sell the building. S.I. was now located in a smaller building in Manhattan, one less flashy than the original—less of a landmark, so it had a better chance at surviving an alien invasion. The act of putting the tower on the market still felt like a betrayal, though. Not only had it been his home for a short period of time, but it had also been Tony’s and Pepper’s passion project for years. 

“Are you going to the office today?” Peter changes to subject. He doesn't want to think about all the things that make him sad at the moment.

“I don’t know if I should,” Tony admits. “Not with everything that’s happened. How will I know you’ll be okay if I’m gone?”

“I’m not planning on going anywhere, that’s for sure,” Peter says. And it’s true—he might invite Ned over later, but he isn’t planning on leaving the house today. “I’ll probably just do some of those stretches Dr. Cho recommended I do so I don’t die at school tomorrow.” 

His dad gives him an incredulous look, “You tryin’ to get rid of me?”

“No!” Peter scrambles. His father might have good reason to be suspicious of him all the time since he found out about Spider-Man, but that doesn't mean it’s not annoying. “I was just asking! Can’t a kid ask his dad about his Sunday plans?”

“Uh-huh,” Tony crosses his arms. “That it?”

“Wouldn’t want Pepper to get mad at you for skipping more meetings…” 

His father squints at him. Peter knows that he would do anything to get back on Pepper’s good side at the moment. “Fine,” he says. “But if you have any problem at all, you call me—got it?”

Peter throws up a mock salute with a, “Sir, yes, sir!” Tony rolls his eyes. This kid. 

“I’m being serious. You stub your toe, I expect to hear about it.” 

Peter exhales through his nose—he’s starting to feel a little frustrated. “Geez, Dad. I’ll be fine. Like I said, I’ll probably just do my stretches and catch up on my homework with Ned.”

His dad just stares at him, a blank expression on his face. “You sure that’s a good idea?” 

“I don't see what could go wrong,” Peter scoffs. “It’s just Ned.” 

“But you got shot yesterday—”

“It was the day before yesterday—”

“You don’t think he’ll notice?” Tony cocks a brow, “He goes to that genius school too, you know.”

He has a point. Ned is a very perceptive person, but Peter thinks that he can get away with it. It’s not like the two of them would be moving around a lot (thus paining Peter’s still-recovering leg), just going over their homework and maybe building that Lego Death Star if they had time.

“If he asks, I’ll tell him that I fell down the stairs.”

Tony puts his hands on his hips, “Kid, our house doesn't have stairs.”

“At the office,” Peter amends. “He already thinks I was there on Friday anyway.”

His father huffs and repeatedly tilts his head back and forth, mulling over the situation and looking like a puppy at the same time. It’s all very convincing until he starts humming in an over-exaggerated manner, making Peter snort.

“Fine,” he says, emerging from behind the kitchen island and ruffling Peter’s hair. “Don’t get into too much trouble with Ted, you hear me?” With that, he disappears back down the hall, presumably to get dressed in one of his many high-fashion suits.

 

-

 

Ned sees through him almost immediately.

“You’re grimacing,” his friend states immediately. No ‘ _ hello, Peter’ _ , ‘ _ how are you doing, Peter _ ’, or ‘ _ what’s been up with you, Peter _ ’.

“I am not,” Peter replies, indignant and suspicious. He should really get better at lying.

Ned rolls his eyes and enters the home, slinging his backpack off his shoulder but not dropping it. “And you were quiet Friday night. What’s up?” 

Shutting and locking the door, Peter mumbles an, “I fell down the stairs,” before hobbling over to Ned. From there, they head to his room. Peter tries with all his might to make his limp less noticeable, but he doesn’t succeed.

“You fell down the stairs? How many stairs? Did you break anything? I don’t see any splints or anything—”

Peter holds up a placating hand, opening the door to his bedroom with the other, gesturing Ned inside. “I’m fine, don't worry. Just a little sore. I just took a tumble at the office.”

Ned lets his bag fall onto Peter’s bed, as per usual, before asking, “Was your dad there? 'Cause it would’ve sucked if he was but couldn't do anything since no one knows you exist. Well, no one but me and a couple of others. Does the government know?” 

“The government has to know, Ned.” Peter falls into his desk chair, letting out a little sigh of relief. “At least, they have to, right? Anyway, yes my dad was there. He’s not so heartless that he would watch a young intern fall down the stairs and not help. He’s a literal superhero.” 

Ned chuckles, muttering a, “So cool, so cool,” under his breath. Sure, Peter might dislike the entire world being in the dark about him, but one upside was Ned. It was obvious his friend found joy in being part of Peter’s secretive life. “I’m gonna head to the bathroom before we get started, if that’s cool.” 

“Of course,” Peter waves a hand to the door of his private bathroom and pulls out his phone while he waits. He hears the door click shut as he sends a text to his dad telling him that Ned has arrived safely, not waiting for the response as he’s probably in a meeting (not that it’s stopped him before). Next, he checks Twitter. Spidey-watch hasn't said much since Friday, but they have speculated on his injury. He scrolls past a video of the security footage that he has still yet to watch, and probably never will. 

Just as he smiles at a meme that a different Spidey fan page has posted, he hears Ned crack the door open. “Uh, Peter?”

Peter looks up to see that Ned hasn't left the doorway. His friend looks a little frazzled, a little perplexed. The expression on his face reminds Peter of when they first watched the new Star Wars reboot trailer together. 

“I don't mean to snoop, honestly, and I wouldn't have brought it up but—” Ned trips over his own words, inclining Peter to raise a brow. “Really, I can’t help it if I was just washing my hands and saw it sitting there, and I happened to read it—”

“Read what, Ned?” Now he’s starting to get worried. 

“And, really, it all makes sense now—if what I’m thinking is true—” Peter leans forward in his chair to get a better look at the bathroom. And there, sitting on the vanity behind Ned, is his bottle of pain relievers. 

The pills in their unmarked, translucent orange, bottle—clear of any identifiers save for the ‘ _ NOT SAFE FOR UN-ENHANCED HUMANS _ ’ in big block letters. And on the lid, written in simple Sharpie: ‘ _ Peter Parker _ ’. That bottle, sitting right where he left it this morning. 

Peter’s entire being freezes, afraid to meet Ned’s eyes. Because he knows that Ned follows the spidey-watch Twitter—hell, he probably even has their notifs on, just like his dad—and he knows that Ned is smart. That Ned is on par with him in levels of intelligence, just in different ways. 

Oh, his dad is gonna kill him.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all the lovely feedback!!! i swear, yall are gonna make me cry. im really excited to write the next chapter (if i dont get derailed again) bc some Stuff goes down, but you could probably figure that if youve seen homecoming. :)
> 
> (also, this has nothing to do with this story, but today i saw a man at the mall who kinda looked like harley and he had an infinity gauntlet on. have i mentioned i live in tennessee?)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned spills the beans, Peter has a mishap, and Tony gets closer to total heart failure thanks to his kid.

“That’s not mine!” Peter says immediately. Ned’s eyes widen now that Peter knows what's going on. “Those are some other Avengers’!” 

“Your name is on it!” Ned stresses. He finally exits the bathroom and falls back onto the bed. “I can’t believe this! Your life—and mine by extension—is so cool!” 

“You don't even know what you’re talking about,” Peter says. He’s scrambling to regain control of the situation. “That’s a joke. My dad wrote that as a joke—”

“You’re the Spider-Man? From YouTube?” Ned asks, awestruck. “I mean, that’s the only explanation!” Before Peter can defend himself, Ned continues, talking at a mile per minute. “Does Mr. Stark know? Did he make your suit? How did this happen? Are you an Avenger?"

“Ned!” Peter cannot believe that this is happening. He’s been good at keeping a secret identity for pretty much his entire life, but one slip-up and now his credibility is down the drain. “Dad can’t know that you know!” 

“This is insane!” Ned pulls at his hair, completely unable to comprehend what he’s just learned. “Why haven't you told anyone? Imagine! Not only does Tony Stark have a son, but his son is Spider-Man!” 

Peter almost stops breathing at the admission. “Ned,” he says, straight to the point. “No one can know. If this got out, my dad would be livid. You know that—”

Ned looks apologetic, “I know. I’m sorry—I’d never tell anyone about your dad, but this is so awesome!”

Now, Peter is starting to get frustrated. “We can’t tell anyone that Peter Parker is Spider-Man because Peter Parker doesn't exist! Not really!” They really weren't going to get any homework done, were they?

“So you’re like a triple agent now? Your life is so cool, Peter!”

Peter didn't have the heart to tell him that it really wasn't. 

-

“You got bit by a spider? Can it bite me? Well, it probably would’ve hurt, right? You know what? Whatever. Even if it did hurt, I’d let it bite me. Maybe. How much did it hurt?” 

Peter didn’t usually walk to school, usually taking the subway or getting someone to drive him, but he had promised Ned that they’d walk the night before. Happy had dropped him off at Ned’s house, and from there the duo walked. It wasn’t that far, but thanks to his still-recovering leg, the walk was making him irritable. 

“The spider’s dead, Ned.” That had been the creepiest spider Peter had ever seen. He’d never been the type to kill insects (or arachnids), always insisting on taking them outdoors, but he doesn't feel bad about what happened to that one—not after how sick it made him. Besides, that spider had probably been experimented on and was thankful to be put out of its misery. At least, that’s what Peter told himself to feel better about it. 

He keeps his eyes down, eyeing the pile of books he’s carrying (he lost his backpack again), but looks up when he notices Ned halting in his tracks.

“Whoa…” Ahead of them is Mr. Delmar’s ruined store and the bank, only in a slightly better state. Delmar’s Sandwiches is in a state of disrepair, burnt up and surrounded by police tape and barricades. The area is filled with police officers and crime scene investigators—the sight making Peter nervous. He recognizes some people from Damage Control, which makes him feel a little better. True to his word, his dad had donated to Mr. Delmar’s cause, paying for the damages to the shop and more. 

“You were here?”

Peter glances back to Ned, who is surveying the scene with wide eyes. “Yeah,” he bluntly answers. 

“You could have died,” Ned sounds like his father, but Peter appreciates the concern. As the only person who knows who he really is outside of his father’s inner circle, Peter will tolerate the worry from Ned. 

The two boys continue to watch the scene, soaking it in. Suddenly, Ned asks, “Do you lay eggs?”

“What?” Peter laughs, scandalized. “No!” 

The two resume walking, detouring around the ruined building. “The way you said that makes me want to believe that you do,” Ned states.

“You caught me off-guard!”

-

Ned continues to ask questions throughout the day. In chemistry, he asks, “ _ Can you spit venom? _ ”, which is a big no. Also something about an army of spiders. Peter loves Ned, he really does, but between the questions and the pain in his leg that has been getting worse as the day progresses, Peter doesn't have a lot of room for patience. 

In history, it’s “ _ How far can you shoot your webs? If I was you, I would stand on the edge of a building and just shoot it as far as I could. _ ” It’s not a bad idea, but their teacher is talking about the Accords, and Peter actually wants to hear the lesson for once. 

Then, it’s time for gym. Peter probably should have gotten a note from Dr. Cho, if she gave those out. By the time gym has rolled around, his leg is on fire. He must persist, however, because today is the mandatory Captain America Fitness Challenge. If only it was a normal day—this will probably cause him even more trouble. 

Sitting on the bleachers, both Ned and Peter watch as Coach Wilson sets up an outdated television set. If his dad were here, he’d be appalled at the old technology. 

Finally, Coach Wilson gets the speakers to work (speakers: the bane of every teacher’s existence), and Captain America greets them. “ _ Hi. I’m Captain America. Whether you’re in the classroom or on the battlefield… _ ”

“Do you know him, too?” Ned whispers from next to him. 

This is the first of Ned’s questions that actually make him smile. “Yeah,” he boasts. “We met.” Peter glances at Ned, who once again has that look of amazement on his face. 

“ _...fitness can be the difference between success or failure. _ ”

“I stole his shield,” he adds, very obviously proud of his achievement. 

“What?” Ned whispers harshly, which really isn’t a whisper at all. 

On the television, Captain Rogers motions to his right, “ _ Today, my good friend, your gym teacher—”  _ Coach Wilson, standing on the left side of the TV, waves. “— _ Will be conducting the Captain America Fitness Challenge. _ ” The Captain raises a hand to salute, and the screen transitions to a title card that says ‘ _ Station I: Sit-ups’ _ .

“Thank you, Captain,” Coach Wilson says. “I’m pretty sure this guy’s a war criminal now, but whatever. I have to show these videos. It’s required by the state. Let’s do it.” With that, he blows his whistle and the students of Midtown all stand at varying rates, grumbling unhappily. 

Luckily, Coach Wilson doesn't care enough to assign each student a partner, so Peter and Ned stick together. At their designated mat, Peter flops down in a manner that jars his leg, but he can’t find it in him to care. He’s just glad he’s off the hard bleacher seats. 

“I guess you’ll be going first, then,” Ned says, sitting down at the end of the mat in a much more graceful way. 

Peter groans, but aligns himself properly on the mat anyway. Ned places his hands on either of his legs (not close to his wound, thank God) to keep him in place and Peter begins, starting off his sit-ups slow so that he doesn't give anything away. 

“So, do the Avengers have to pay taxes?” Ned asks. He just can’t help himself. 

“Shh!” His pain is slowly increasing, but it would be worse if Ned wasn't taking some of the pressure off his legs, so he’s thankful. 

“What does Hulk smell like?” Peter shushes him again. “I bet he smells nice.”

“You  _ have  _ to shut up,” Peter pleads. Not only for the sake of his secret identity, but Ned would be a laughing-stock if anyone overheard him talking about Hulk smelling good. 

“Is Captain America cool, or is he like a mean, old grandpa?”

“Ned, just shh, okay?” 

Finally, Ned drops the subject of the Avengers. “Hey, can I be your guy in the chair?” 

Peter furrows his brows, “What?” 

“Yeah,” Ned confirms. “You know how there’s a guy with a headset telling the other guy where to go?” When Peter doesn't reply, Ned continues. “Like, like if you’re stuck in a burning building, I could tell you where to go. Because there’d be screens around me, and I could, you know, swivel around, and…” He trails off. “‘Cause I could be your guy in the chair.”

Peter rolls his eyes, “Ned, I don’t need a guy in the chair.” 

Suddenly, Coach Wilson interrupts their conversation, “Looking good, Parker.” 

Peter glances at their P.E. teacher, looks down at himself, and frowns. He’s been going way too fast thanks to losing his concentration. He huffs out a breath and tries again, doing his best to make it look like he’s having a hard time. 

Before Ned can ask any more questions, the duo overhears a conversation going on at the bleachers. It’s Liz, Betty, and another one of their friends.

Betty looks to be deeply contemplating something, but she finally relents and says, “Now, see, for me, it would be  _ ‘F’ _ Thor, marry Iron Man, and kill Hulk.” Oh, God. The part about Thor is relatable, but the rest makes Peter want to squeeze his eyes shut and never hear another word again.

“Well, what about the Spider-Man?” The girl Peter doesn't recognize asks. He really doesn't want to hear this. 

“It’s just Spider-Man,” Betty corrects, making Peter smile. He and Betty Brant have never been super close but here she is, unknowingly defending his honor. 

“Did you guys see the bank security cam on YouTube?” Liz asks. “He fought off four guys!”

Peter has to admit, hearing Liz gush about his alter-ego makes his heart swell a little.

“Oh my God, she’s crushing on Spider-Man,” Betty says, rolling her eyes. 

“No way!” The other girl adds. 

Liz shrugs, her cheeks reddening, “Kind of?” Peter’s eyes go wide. 

Betty scoffs, “Ugh, gross.” Peter looks back to Ned, both looking surprised by the turn of events. “He’s probably, like, thirty.”

“You don’t even know what he looks like! Like, what if he’s, like, seriously burned?” 

“I wouldn’t care,” Liz says. “I would still love him for the person he is on the inside.”

Peter’s heart speeds up. Love? Was Liz saying that she, hypothetically, loved him? Of course, she didn't know it was him, but— 

“Peter knows Spider-Man!” Oh, Ned. 

Peter turns back to Ned, mouth agape. He really cannot believe that Ned has done something like this. They’ve known each other for years without a security breach, but now? Everyone in the gym has stopped whatever they’re doing at Ned’s outburst. Peter, for once, is at the center of attention. He scrambles up, ignoring the pinching in his leg, and strides over to the bleachers. Ned follows. 

He stutters, “No, I don’t. No. I—I mean—”

“They’re friends!” Ned exclaims, trying to do damage control on the situation. 

Flash Thompson appears out of nowhere, dropping out of the sky from the rope he was climbing. “Yeah,” he says, voice full of snark. “Like Coach Wilson and Captain America are friends.” 

“I’ve met him. Yeah. A couple times. But it’s, um—” Peter struggles to come up with an adequate cover. He would blame it on the internship he pretends to have when at the compound, but he’s not allowed to talk about that at school. “—Complicated. We ran into each other once and then—” He whips back to Ned, and says through gritted teeth, “I’m not really supposed to talk about it.” 

“Well, that’s awesome,” Flash says. He clearly doesn't believe Peter’s story. “Hey, you know what? Maybe you should invite him to Liz’s party. Right?”

Liz perks up at the prospect of getting to meet Spider-Man, “Yeah, I’m having people over next Friday. You’re more than welcome to come!” Peter wonders how true that is, considering that Flash knew about the party before Peter did. 

“It’s gonna be dope,” Flash adds. “You should totally invite your  _ personal  _ friend Spider-Man.”

Peter utters an, “ _ uhh… _ ” before Liz interjects again. “It’s okay. I know Peter’s way too busy for parties anyway, so…” 

Flash saunters over to Peter, getting in close. “Come on. He’ll be there. Right, Parker?” With that, the bell rings, and everyone in the gym is relieved for their least favorite class to be over.

Once he and Ned are alone, Peter turns back to him a throws his hands up in the air, “What are you doing?” 

“Helping you out!” Ned says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Did you not hear her? Liz has a crush on you!” Huh. Peter hadn't considered that. “Dude, you’re an Avenger. If anyone of us has a chance with a senior girl, it’s you!” 

-

When Peter gets home from school, he’s so done it’s unfathomable. 

Between walking to school with Ned and having to traverse up and down the stairs at school, all the exercise that went down thanks to the Captain America Fitness challenge, and Peter forgetting to ask Happy for a ride home, he wants to get rid of his leg entirely. His medicine has had plenty of time to wear off, and Peter is  _ done. _

When he walks in, FRIDAY immediately greets him and tells him that his father is in the penthouse’s tiny workshop. Usually, Peter would go and say hello, but he wants nothing more than to pop another pill and get his homework over with. The grumble of his stomach protests, but pain comes before dinner. 

When he gets to his room, he unceremoniously drops his stack of books onto his desk and heads straight to his attached bathroom. He’s put his medicine into the  _ medicine cabinet _ , now, since them being in clear view is what got him in trouble in the first place. The agony is so bad that Peter leans against his vanity as he pours some of the capsules into the palm of his hand, doing anything to take some of the pressure off his leg. 

He singles one out and dry-swallows it without much fanfare, but as he’s about to discard the rest back into the bottle, he remembers something Dr. Cho said.  _ Two, if it’s unbearable _ . Well, Peter would say that his situation is pretty unbearable. He pours all of them but one back into their container and takes the additional pill. 

Peter limps back into his room and falls into his desk chair with a sigh. He knows that today was the most physically demanding of his weekly schedule, but Peter doesn't know if he’ll be able to do it again. Maybe he should’ve taken up his dad’s offer to skip when he had the chance. 

He lets his head fall into his hands, resting for a moment before he ultimately decides to finish the worksheet he started in Chemistry today. It’s just stuff on the Gas Laws, only more advanced, so he should be able to breeze through it. 

It’s only fifteen minutes in when he’s converting millimeters of Mercury (the most annoying unit of measuring pressure unless you're a doctor) to standard atmospheric pressure when Peter starts to feel a little foggy. But he shakes it off—maybe it’ll go away. He tries to focus on his work again. 

Seventy-liter sample of gas that has a pressure of five hundred mmHg—God, not again—at twenty Celsius. If the temperature drops fifteen degrees and the volume expands by a factor of two-and-three-tenths—

Damn, he’s starting to feel bad. What’s the new pressure? 

Peter straightens his back—Pepper would disapprove of him being hunched over his desk—but the movement makes his head spin. He squeezes his eyes shut, but it does little to help. Peter steadies himself on his desk, gripping the wood a little bit too tight.

Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. The pressure on his leg is gone, but his head feels like it’s ready to explode. 

FRIDAY says something to him, but he pays it no mind. When he wrenches his eyes open, the haze has returned with a vengeance. He’s swimming in the fog, confused and disorientated. It’s almost as if he’s drowning. 

Deep sea diving with the pressure too high. 

But the question is, Pacific Ocean or Hudson Bay? Peter remembers watching his father fall into the Pacific, never to return. The death is televised to the nation, and Peter can do nothing but watch as the home his father designed falls into the water with him, dooming him to the deep. The river view outside the tall windows of the living room taunts him, even though this water is on the opposite side of the country. It’s still a grave.

He’s cold, which must be thanks to all the water rushing in. Eyes bleary and head spinning, Peter can’t make out much around him except for the darkness. He reaches out again for something, anything, but he only ends up pushing himself further down. More pressure to the back of his head sends his heart racing. 

But then there’s a figure in front of him, pinning him down by his shoulders. Peter squints—it’s a struggle, but he recognizes the person ahead of him as his dad. Perfectly reasonable considering his dad was down here before he was. Must be the Pacific, then. 

His dad is saying something, but Peter is having trouble making it out. Maybe if he shuts his eyes he’ll be able to focus on it more—

\- 

“You  _ must _ want me to have a conniption, with everything you’ve been pulling lately. Fighting crime, getting shot, nearly over-dosing—though, I guess it’s not your fault you have selective hearing. Except, it actually is. Two pills, Parker, fine—but not on an empty stomach, for God’s sake! You’re lucky Cho didn't need to get involved, because she can lay it on a whole lot thicker than I can—”

There’s a warmness surrounding him. A hand gently carding through his hair. 

“This has got to be the worst you’ve scared me in years. Except getting shot, of course. But it’s a toss-up on whether or not this is worse than the great asthma attack of ‘08. Jury’s still out on that one, but I can tell you right now, this was definitely worse than the peanut allergy debacle of 2005. Back then, you weren’t a super-mutate and I could just run you over to the hospital two streets over, see our private doctor. Now, the compound is two hours away on a good day—no traffic—and that’s the only place I trust to take you.”

It’s still dark when he cracks his eyes open, but the floor lamp across the room is emitting a soft, orange glow. He doesn’t immediately see his father, but Peter can tell that he’s sitting on the left side of the bed, incredibly close. His head is still heavy, but when he strains his eyes to get a glimpse of his dad’s face, his dad is staring straight ahead. 

“What would Pepper think if she heard of this? Rhodey or Happy? What kind of father lets his child nearly kill himself on the regular like this? Your mother?” The next part comes out as a whisper, “If she could see the future, would she have kept you to keep you safe? How selfish is it that I hope she wouldn't?” 

“Boss, it appears that Peter is waking.” 

The hand in his hair freezes. “Shit.” 

His dad leans over him, and Peter finally gets an unobstructed view of the man. Tony is disheveled, but only a little more so than usual. 

He takes his son’s face in his calloused hand, tilting it slightly to the left. Peter is thankful—he’s so tired he can’t see passed half-lidded eyes, much less function his neck muscles. 

“You with me, buddy?”  

Peter opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. His throat is dry, so he only manages a squeak. Still, his father smiles at him and returns to petting his hair.

“That’s okay, Bambi. I get it.” All Peter can do is blink slowly, but he hangs on to every word the best he can. “I’m not mad. We just had a little scare, is all. Nothing life-threatening. You can go back to sleep if you want.”

His father returns his gaze to whatever it is on the wall that’s so interesting, but he doesn't stop playing with Peter’s hair. “How about I tell you about that time Uncle Rhodey and I snuck into a Metallica show. It was March 1989 and we had class the next day, but I wasn't going to let that stop me. The damn thing sold out in an hour, and I missed the sale because I was hungover. It’s ludicrous because the show was in Worcester—an hour away from M.I.T.—why would  _ that  _ one sell out? Makes no sense. It was all worth it in the end though, because they played three encores. Anyway, once it became evident that I couldn't bribe my way in…”

-

The next time Peter wakes up, it comes a lot easier. 

There’s a dull ache in his head, but it can be easily ignored. He’s confused, though. Vaguely, he remembers his father being there, but that’s as far as he gets. His dad isn't here now, however.

“FRIDAY?” Peter grimaces at his voice, dry and cracked. “I… What happened? Where’s Dad?” 

“You had a bad reaction to your medication. Boss is on his way up now to explain.” 

He grimaces, but doesn't ask another question. Hopefully, his dad won't kill him but Peter doesn't really know what he did in the first place. He sits up and rubs at his eyes before taking in the state of his room. To anyone else it might have looked like an average teenager’s bedroom, dresser drawers thrown open, but Peter knows better. He doesn't remember changing clothes last night.

Before he has time to ponder over the implications of  _ that _ , his dad barges in looking like a housemaid—tray of food and all. 

“Oh, good,” Tony says, not wasting a single second and delivering breakfast to his son. A protein-filled omelette and a bowl of assorted fruits await Peter. “I was worried you were going to sleep all day.” 

Peter stares at his food, at a loss for words—his father has never brought him breakfast in bed before. Before he digs in, Peter decides to sip at the orange juice on the tray instead, miraculously not spilled. “I’m sorry?” He places the glass on the nightstand where it will be much safer. 

Tony grabs Peter’s desk chair and rolls it closer to the bed before sitting down, “You don't even know what you’re apologizing for,” he says, deadpan. “So I won’t accept.” 

“No,” Peter clarifies, picking at some pineapple that he didn't even know they had in the fridge. “I’m just really confused.” 

His father sits up a little straighter, “Like, the ‘you don't know who you are, vision is swimming’ confused? Because FRIDAY said you were fine. FRIDAY—”

“The, ‘I don't remember anything from last night’ confused. I feel fine.” It’s at this moment that Peter realizes his leg doesn't hurt as bad as it did yesterday after “—oh, God, I have school!” He wants to jump out of bed, but the tray on his lap prevents him from doing so. 

“No, you don’t,” Tony says, and his tone leaves no room for further discussion. “I called you in sick. Because you are. Or, were.” 

Peter huffs. They’ve been dancing around the subject for long enough. “What happened?”

His father winces, bobbing his head back and forth. He’s clearly deliberating how much detail he should go into. “Well, you had a little mishap, but it’s not technically your fault. I mean, it is—’cause you were warned—but I don't blame you.” They stare at each other for a moment and Tony sighs when he realizes that Peter won’t relent until he has the full picture. “Look, there are some medicines that you take before you eat, and there are some that you don't wanna tango with on an empty stomach. There’s a lot of science behind it, but pain relievers fall in the latter category. This wouldn't have been an issue but you took an increased dosage—which you were allowed to do, I’m not mad about that— _ and  _ it was your first time, so I’m not surprised about what happened.”

Slowly, it comes back to him. He does remember being hungry and taking two pills, but the rest is still hazy. Finally, he begins to pick at his food, “You still haven’t told me what actually happened. Just why it happened.”

“Fine,” his father crosses his arms like a petulant child. “I can’t get anything past you. Really, all you did was pass out. You didn’t overdose or anything like that. I was worried you did, especially with all the dumb shit I did in my twenties, but you didn't. You’re fine.”

Peter figures that’s all he’s going to get out of the man, but to his surprise, Tony continues. 

“You hit your head pretty hard, too, but FRIDAY said he didn't have a concussion. I thought you did, though, because you were saying some troubling things whenever you woke up for a few minutes at a time.”

Peter avoids his father’s eyes, electing to cut up his omelette instead, “What sort of things?”

There’s a squeaking coming from his rolling chair, his father having, presumably, crossed his legs. “It was a lot of incoherent mumbling. It was cute, at first, but then you started talking about water.” Ah, Peter really doesn't want to hear about this. “It was kinda freaky. You want to talk about that?” 

“Not really,” Peter answers immediately. When he glances up, his father is staring at him. Deciding on whether or not he’s going to let Peter off the hook. 

Finally, he says, “I’m not going anywhere, Peter.” But he can’t control that. In Peter’s short fifteen years of life, his father has had more near-death experiences than Peter wants to think about. It’s a miracle either of them has made it this far.

“I know,” he replies. Because he wants to. He wants to believe that his father can guarantee that nothing will happen to him. To either of them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kind words!! Especially those of you who are commenting on every chapter. Seeing your names makes me smile and reading your comments make me gush <3 Sorry if long end notes aren't your thing, but I just want to Address a few things:
> 
> \- first, sorry if this chapter was kinda boring. a lot of action goes on next time  
> \- you might have noticed that ive set the chapter number to 8. I really hated that question mark. The other day i went through and really fleshed out my outline, so it should be 8 (if not more. you know i have the tendency to get off track)  
> \- the mcu timeline is so messed up. I've went and found the most recent one I can, which moves IM to 2010 and IM3 to december 2012, but not much has really changed. Peter is still freshly15 at the moment.  
> \- i know that my way of introducing peter's fear of water by sending him on a bad trip was really extra. Like, really extra. And unrealistic. I've had that in my head for a while now, though, so I wasnt going to take it out.  
> \- lastly, if i ever mention a specific location or detail, you can bet that i've done extensive research on it. i just cant make stuff up, it bothers me too bad. There really was a Metallica show with three encores in Worcester in March 1989. Peter's homework question came from a test i took last year. the answer is 213.68 mmHg (or, 2.8 x 10^-1 atm). i love chemistry. 
> 
> i love you all! so much! its crazy!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepper bakes cookies, Ned needs to watch Cap's peer pressure PSA, and Peter goes swimming.

Pepper lives on the top floor of a high-end apartment building closer to the tower than the apartment Peter and his father share. Truthfully, she has owned this place since before the split (Dad insists that it’s not a break up) for a number of reasons, one of which being a safe house for either her or Peter should anything happen. Tony, of course, had the place decked out in security equipment and given the Hogan seal of approval years ago, with the tech being constantly updated.

Peter hasn't been here since before the thing in Germany, though. Sure, he sees Pepper at the main S.I. building, but he’s still really excited to spend the time with her. Pepper has been working overtime (or, more overtime than usual) so that she won’t have to worry much about the company as much while Peter is with her, so she’s been sparse as of late. Still, being the CEO of the world’s biggest tech company is a hard job, so she’ll be working a nine-to-five all week like most other average Americans. If anything, Peter is excited to get to pretend to be an average American with her.

“You have your toothbrush, right?” His father asks, startling Peter from his thoughts. They’re in the elevator on their way up to see the woman of the hour.

Peter shakes the duffel bag in his hand, “For the last time, yes. I have everything and even if I didn't, I still have my own room here.”

“Just making sure—don’t get all defensive on me,” he reaches into his jacket pocket and holds out Peter’s bottle of pills. The same ones he confiscated a week prior, just so that Tony would know when Peter was taking any to avoid another incident. “I don’t think you’ll need these, but here—just in case.”

He’s right—Peter hasn't needed any for a couple of days now, but he appreciates his father’s trust in him again. Peter pockets the bottle as the elevator dings, doors sliding open. They step out and make their way to Pepper’s door across the hall, but Tony stops halfway there. Peter pauses a couple of steps ahead of him and gives him an expectant look.

“Okay, but,” his dad straightens his suit and runs a hand through his hair, “I look good, right?”

“Oh my God,” Peter rolls his eyes. “I can’t believe you right now. You look fine. You’ll miss your flight if you keep on.”

Tony scoffs, catching up with his son, “Like I care about that.” Right when Peter is about to knock on the door, his dad starts again, “Do you think I should have brought her some chocolate or something? Maybe a bouquet. Or a single orchid. She thinks orchids are contemporary—”

“Dad,” Peter interrupts. “Just be yourself. You’ve known each other for years—this isn't a first date. This isn't even anything. You’re dropping me off for daycare.”

“So you’re allowed to make kid jokes but I’m not? If I had said that, you’d be losing it right now—”

“You’re stalling,” Peter promptly knocks three times on the door. “You see her all the time at work, I don't see how this is any different.”

His father looks mildly panicked, which amuses Peter greatly. “That’s completely different and you know it! That is in a professional atmosphere—”

And then the door opens. And there stands Pepper in all her glory. Even without heels on, she towers over both Peter and Tony by at least half a head. She smiles brightly at both of them and goes in to hug Peter, which the boy greatly appreciates. Pepper is the only mother-figure he’s ever known, and while they may not ever discuss it, they are both comfortably aware of it.

“Nothing about you is professional, Tony,” she says, pulling away from Peter to give Tony a hug, albeit one shorter than Peter’s. “Peter, honey, it is so good to see you! I hope your dad hasn't been giving you too much trouble.”

Tony snorts and bumps shoulders with Peter, “It’s the other way around, these days. You text me if he gets out of hand and I’ll send Happy over to give him a stern talking to.”

“I’d invite you in, Tony, but I know you’re already late—not that I’m surprised.”

“Do I smell cookies?” Peter interjects. “You made cookies?” He grins at his father’s pout.

“Yes!” Pepper exclaims, clapping her hands together. “I’ve been trying out baking, lately. I don’t have a lot of time, but I like it. It reminds me of the rush of working at the company, but less stressful.”

“Oh, I have plenty enough time to pop in and try one,” Tony says, giving his best puppy eyes. It’s evident where Peter got that skill from. “I’m sure it’s amazing—you made it, after all.”

“They’re not gluten-free, I’m afraid,” Pepper says, putting her hands on her hips. “Maybe Peter can help me figure those out while he’s here.”

“I don't—I don't have a gluten allergy. I’m not allergic to wheat.” Petter smiles at the back and forth. He’s missed having these two together. “It was one time, I had an upset stomach.”

“Maybe we can have dinner when you get back,” Peter says, trying to pull a parent trap single-handedly. “With dessert, obviously. No gluten.”

Tony rolls his eyes, “I should have never introduced you two all those years ago. You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” but he says it with a fond smile. He then turns his attention to Peter, gaze becoming more serious, “You stay out of trouble—I’m not joking around. Call if you need anything. Anything.”

He must not have told Pepper about the Spider-Man thing, then, because this is far too subtle for his father. Peter shrugs it off, “This isn't my first rodeo, Dad. I’ll be fine.”

He can feel Pepper glancing between the two of them—she obviously knows that something is up. She’s spent years dealing with both Tony’s and Peter’s shenanigans.

“Well!” His dad claps him on the shoulder, “If I don’t get going now, Happy will have a stroke. Be good, Pete. It was good to see you again, Pepper,” He nods to her. And if it were socially acceptable, Peter can easily imagine his father taking her hand and kissing it—like a prince in a fairytale. “It’s always good to see you.”

Pepper snorts. She must be getting the vibes of Tony’s extraness, too. “I saw you two days ago, Tony, but okay. I’ll see you next Friday when you return for your child.”

Tony gingerly takes a couple of steps back, “Right. Well, love you!” His gaze snaps over to Peter. “Peter. Love you, Peter. I’ll just be leaving now. I’ll call you at an appropriate time every night. Time Zones you know?”

“Right. Love you too, Dad,” Peter says, a hint of mirth in his voice. “Have a safe flight! Bring me a souvenir!” And with that, his father disappears down the hall, giving one last wave.

Pepper ushers him inside, a comforting hand on his back. “He seems to be doing good,” Pepper says. “Did you make him sleep last night?”

“Oh, not you too,” Peter says, dropping his bag by the couch and prancing over to the kitchen. The apartment hasn’t changed much from what Peter can tell. Pepper’s plants are a bit taller, which makes him smile. He used to help keep track of how often they needed to be watered when he was younger (not that Pepper needed any help).

On the counter sits a plate of freshly baked cookies, which Peter helps himself to. They’re perfect in a way that only Pepper could achieve.

“What do you mean?” Pepper asks, hands on her hips. She clearly knows what he means, anyway.

“You and Dad. Dancing around each other, making big theatrics out of it,” Peter says, mouth full and waving the hand that carries the other half of his cookie.

“Oh, I just like to see him squirm,” she replies. “How have you been, though? I feel like we haven’t been together in forever.”

-

Here’s the thing. The party that Liz is hosting is in a couple of days, and Peter truly has no idea how he’s going to get there with the suit without his dad noticing. The suit has to have a tracker in it because how else would his dad be able to find him that night Peter got shot?

So, Peter has to bypass that function of his suit somehow. He knows that there's a port on the inside of the suit where you can plug it into a computer, but Peter sucks at coding. At least, in comparison to his father. Luckily for him, he happens to have a friend who is exceptionally good at it.

He goes over to Ned’s house one day after school to “study for Nationals”, but it’s really only about the suit. He doesn’t tell Ned that, though, because his friend would definitely lose his mind in front of the entire school if he knew. When Peter lets him in on it, Ned loses his mind. Just as expected.

Ned wastes no time plugging the suit into his laptop, and the screen is immediately filled with lines of code so long that they make Peter’s eyes cross. Ned is breathless at the sight of Tony’s coding—it might just be the coolest thing he’s ever seen.

“So, what do you need?” Ned asks, still staring starstruck at the screen.

“I just need to be sure that Dad won’t know about the party,” Peter says, peering at the screen. There must be hundreds of protocols attached to the suit.

“Wait, are you grounded?” Ned squints at Peter. “Because I don't want Mr. Stark to be mad at me—I already shouldn't know about this—”

“I’m not grounded. He just doesn't want me going off and getting in trouble while he’s in India. I’m just going to the party—that’s it.” It’s technically true. Spider-Man was only benched for a week for his injury, and Peter isn't allowed to get into any trouble. Spidey going to a party shouldn't be too big a sin.

“I don’t know, Peter,” says Ned. “What if he sues me, or something?”

Peter scoffs, “He won’t sue you. You’re my only real friend—Pepper wouldn't let him get rid of you.” Peter might get into trouble for further involving Ned, but if they do a good enough job they shouldn't get caught. “All I’m asking is that you put the suit in incognito mode. Please?”

Ned thinks it over, still scrolling through the lines of code. Peter feels bad, knowing that he’s the cause of Ned’s indecisiveness. Peter knows that he wants to help, but Ned’s loyalty to Peter’s father is incredibly strong. Not only is Ned Peter’s only friend but he was Peter’s first friend. It took years of Tony screening the boy for him to decide to let him in on the family secret. That and Pepper (with Rhodey’s help) stressing that it wasn't healthy for Peter to go his entire childhood pretending to be someone he’s not to the entire world. He needed a friend who knew, a friend who wasn't part of his Dad’s social circle. Despite this, Peter still feels more like a Parker than a Stark on most days.

Regardless, Ned is good at keeping a secret. At least, this secret. He’s too afraid of the great Tony Stark being pissed at him to let the cat out of the bag.

“There’s a ton of other subsystems in here,” Ned says, drawing in Peter’s attention again. “But they’re all disabled by the… Training Wheels Protocol.” One glance at Ned’s face proves that he’s very amused by the name.

“What? Turn it off!”

“I don't think that’s a good idea, Peter,” Ned shakes his head. “I mean, they’re probably all disabled for a reason!”

Peter huffs out a sigh, falling back onto Ned’s bed. “I don’t need training wheels!” Ned turns in his desk chair to witness Peter’s tantrum from a better angle. “I’m sick of him treating me like a kid all the time!”

“But you are a kid. His kid—”

“Who can stop a bus with his bare hands!” Peter takes a deep breath, “I just want to impress Liz.”

After a moment, he hears Ned groan and turn back to his desk. “Well, he’ll probably get a notification if we turn it off, so I’ll have to block all outgoing transmissions from the suit.”

Peter snaps up, “Really? So you’ll do it?”

“What else is a guy in the chair for?”

-

Ultimately, Ned disables all outgoing communications, unlocks the suit’s full potential, and helps to take out the tracker. But he only does it after Peter promises to bring the suit back after the party to turn it all back on.

So, Pepper has a last-minute meeting Friday night, giving Peter the perfect chance to sneak out. She shouldn't be back until eleven, so Peter has plenty of time to pop in at the party, say a few good words about Peter Parker, and pop out before she gets back. The perfect plan.

When it’s time to go, he climbs to the roof of the apartment building to change into his suit. Usually, this is a very anti-climactic event.

But then he puts his mask on. And there’s a woman. A woman in his suit.

“Good evening, Peter,” the voice says. She startles him so bad that he literally jumps. “Congratulations on completing the rigorous Training Wheels Protocol and gaining access to your suit’s full capabilities. Your father is very proud of you.” Oof, that one stung a little.

“Uh, who are you?” Peter asks. The voice sounds fairly nice and reminds him of FRIDAY. “Are you an A.I.?”

“Yes, Peter. I am the A.I. your father created to help you stay safe and make well-informed decisions.” Something tells Peter that what he’s attempting to do now isn't a “well-informed decision”.

Peter stretches and casts out his first web in the direction of Queens. “Well, do you have a name?”

“Your father thought it best to let you name me yourself to help us bond,” the lady says.

Peter scrunches up his nose, “I don't like how you phrased that. Kinda makes you sound like a pet.” As he picks up speed, Peter begins to realize how much he missed swinging between the buildings of New York. His leg hardly hurts anymore, and he finally feels free.

“I will remember that for next time Peter. Where are you taking me, tonight?”

“Oh, just a party at a friend’s house. We won’t be out for too long,” Peter says. “And how about… Karen? Do you like that?”

“I think it suits me very well, Peter,” Karen says. “What made you pick this name?”

“Did you just make a suit pun?” Peter giggles. “Oh my God, I love you. And I picked it because I was trying to come up with the names of different A.I.’s in pop culture. There’s this funny cartoon where there’s a computer named Karen and she doesn't take shit from no man!”

Karen chuckles (or, whatever the A.I. equivalent of that is), “She sounds like a good role model. I consider myself lucky to be named after such a strong-willed A.I..”

“Oh, Ned is going to love this.”

Sadly, Ned never gets to hear about it.

Peter stops on a nearby roof and watches the party taking place inside Liz’s house. He can see Ned in a ridiculous hat, Flash at a DJ booth, and even Michelle Jones in the kitchen, eating toast. Suddenly, he’s nervous. What would Dad think if he knew about this? Before, he was determined to hack into the suit and go to this party but now he’s having second thoughts.

But Peter doesn't have time to think it over. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a bright blue flash of light in the distance. He knows immediately that he has to check it out because Queens is his. His responsibility.

He sends a text to Ned before he takes off, explaining the situation. Ned isn't too mad about it because of how cool he thinks Peter going on a secret mission is. Sorry, Dad.

After a sprint through a huge golf course (of course, there’s a golf course—Liz lives on the richer side of Queens), Peter ends up hiding out on a bridge. Nearby, three men are stood by a van.

“Okay, okay, okay,” one of them says. “I got what you need, all right? I got tons of great stuff here. One sec.” He walks up to the van and rummages through some of the stuff inside. From what Peter can tell, the van is stuffed with weapons.

“Okay, I got, uh, black hole grenades, Chitauri railguns…”

A different man walks up to the third, “You letting off shots in public now? Hurry up. Look, times are changing. We’re the only ones selling these high tech weapons.”

High tech weapons? That would explain the blast Peter saw. And the bank heist…

“I need something to stick up somebody. I’m not trying to shoot them back in time,” says the third man, presumably the buyer.

“I got anti-grav climbers,” says the man at the van.

The buyer finally seems interested, “Yo, climbers?”

Suddenly, Peter’s phone starts ringing. All three man look around, scrambled, as Peter checks his phone. It’s Pepper. He’s in real trouble now.

“Okay, what the hell was that?” One man asks, pointing his gun at the buyer. “Did you set us up?”

“Hey,” the buyer puts his hands up, “Hey, man.” Oh God, if Peter gets this man shot he’ll never forgive himself. Criminal or not.

Peter flips down to the ground and holds his hands out, “Hey! Hey, come on. You gonna shoot at somebody, shoot at me!” If his dad could hear him right now, he’d be losing his mind.

The man with the gun shrugs and turns aims at Peter instead, “All right…”

Before the man can shoot, Peter fires a web at the gun and flings it far out of the way to avoid getting shot again. Then, Peter charges at the men but falls short when one of them uses an alien weapon to send Peter flying back into the bridge.

The men hop into the van, the buyer nowhere to be seen, but Peter fires a web at one of the van’s back doors before they can get away. Peter is dragged along through a Queens neighborhood, the van swerving and flinging Peter into a pair of trash cans. He grunts and fires another web onto the other door of the van, somewhat stabilizing himself.

One of the back doors flies open, revealing the man with the energy gauntlets. He aims for Peter once again, but the van jolts as he fires, causing him to shoot the door instead. The door comes flying off nearly hitting Peter in the process.

Not yet deterred, the man charges up another blast. This time, Peter narrowly avoids the shot, losing grip on one of his webs along the way. As the van makes a sharp right turn Peter’s spider-sense goes off, but he doesn't have time to avoid whatever danger is coming his way. Peter is flung into the side of a parked car, wincing at the combination of pain in his side and the blaring alarm of the car. Without a second to recover, Peter is dragged through a row of trash cans and, finally, the brick pillar of a mailbox.

By this point he has lost grip on both of his webs, so he jumps up and fires another a the van as it speeds away. As the web comes into contact with the van’s remaining door, the door snaps off and falls onto the asphalt road. Exasperated, Peter throws his arms up.

“Great. Guess I’ll be taking a shortcut.”

Peter jogs through a number of yards, one with two men playing ping pong, one with a friendly dog that he wishes he could have stayed to pet longer. Finally getting the sense that he can start swinging, Peter fires a web to a street lamp, then a tree branch. As he gains momentum, he fires a web at a treehouse. Those are supposed to be sturdy, right? Wrong.

The treehouse collapses under his weight, and Peter is flung through the roof of a shed. Not losing any momentum, he bursts through the door, running blindly through the yard and colliding with a wooden fence. He climbs over, only to become tangled in a soccer net.

Peter stumbles through a hedge and is suddenly in the yard of a man hosting a barbeque. Peter waves at the man and tells him that his food smells good, not stopping once on the way. In the next yard, a group of people are having a pool party. Why is Queens so busy tonight?

After skidding across the pool and running into two little girls having a sleepover in a tent probably scarring them for life, Peter finally catches up with the smoking van.

Peter jumps up to the roof of a house and gives chase, running and jumping along the residential roofs of Queens to keep up with the van. He can feel lates becoming loose under his feet, but he doesn't give up.

“Thought you got away from me, didn’t you?” Peter pants, “I got you right where I want you!” He gives one last sprint, ignoring the pain growing in his leg and leaps off the roof, “Surprise!”

His spider-sense screams at him, louder than ever before. Peter is flung upside-down, and he catches sight of his bad leg in the grip of some… metal bird-man. As Peter wrestles to free himself from the tight grip, the man casts his glowing green eyes down to Peter. The sight is terrifying.

That’s when they start gaining altitude. The main doesn't break eye-contact as they fly higher and higher, menacing green orbs burning into Peter’s brain. The vigilante begins to hyperventilate, fighting harder and harder to free himself from the grip.

And then something yanks Peter down. Now he’s falling.

Is a parachute? He has a parachute? It’s not doing its job, however, because Peter finds himself being entangled in the white sheet. Ropes constrict his legs during the free-fall as Peter gets one last glance at the city. His shining, beautiful city.

Then the unthinkable happens. Peter is plunged into the dark, and even though the impact makes him want to believe that he has hit the ground, he keeps falling. Deeper and deeper and deeper into frigid temperatures. Realistically, this can only be one thing.

Peter can’t help but gasp for air, but the only thing he breathes in is dirty water. Still, he fights against the ropes and sheet, kicking and squirming with all his might. No matter how hard he tries, Peter continues to sink like a rock. Lungs burning, heart racing, Peter brings his thrashing to a stop. He’s going to die, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

Because Dad isn’t in the water with him this time, and the world can’t save a boy if it doesn't know he exists.

But then, as Peter starts to drift away, something grabs him. Something cold, hard, and metal.

As he is wrenched up and out of the water, the sheet is pulled away, but Peter keeps his eyes screwed shut to keep their burning at bay. As he is carried through the air, Peter uses whatever fight that is left in him to tear his arms free. Reaching for his mask, Peter can hardly keep his wet coughs contained long enough to rip it off.

When Peter is dropped off on the ground, he immediately hunches over on his hands and knees, violently coughing. Even though he’s on land, he still can’t breathe. It reminds him of an asthma attack.

Beside him, he notices the Iron Man suit squat beside him. Maybe it’s the water in his ears, but his father isn't saying anything.

“D-Dad?” Peter asks during a break in his coughing, voice raspy and unpleasant to listen to.

The suit stands and opens up completely. His father isn't here. “Please step inside, Peter,” FRIDAY says. “I will take you home.”

Peter leans back on his knees, still coughing. “D-Dad? Are you there?”

“Please step inside, I will take you home.”

“N-No,” Peter grinds out. The cool air is finally starting to get ahold of him. “I want to t-talk to D-Dad.”

“Boss will be home tomorrow afternoon,” FRIDAY says, voice lacking emotion. The suit outstretches a hand, “Step inside, I am taking you home.”

Peter wheezes and doubles over, “No, I k-know he’s there. Let me t-talk to him, please. I w-want my dad—”

“Boss is currently unable to speak to you. Peter, step inside the suit—”

“No!” Peter swats at the metal hand and tries to stand, but stumbles instead. He hobbles away from the suit and a snail’s pace. “If he won’t talk to me—if he’s not here, he can’t just ship me away without a word. Tell him he can’t drag me anywhere if he’s not—”

The repulsors of the Iron Man suit come to life and Peter is encased in the suit before he can get the last word. The suit is out of Peter’s control and immediately blasts off sending Peter’s stomach flying as if he’s just driven really fast over a really big hill. He knows that with his strength, Peter could easily bust out of his father’s suit. But he doesn't want to—he’s so drained, he can hardly believe what’s just happened to him.

He was drowning. He was going to die.

Either Peter blacked out or his dad was really eager to get him home fast, because the suit is spitting him out before he knows it. Except, Peter’s not home. Technically. He’s on the roof of Pepper’s apartment building.

Oh God, Pepper.

She has to know, now. She must have told his dad he was gone after Peter didn't answer the phone earlier but how would she know he was gone if she was at a meeting? And how did his dad know where to find him if he and Ned disabled all the functions? None of this was adding up—

The Iron Man suit nudges Peter forward towards the door to the stairwell. The faceplate stares into him, disapproving and angry. It makes sense—the suit was supposed to be menacing. The suit marches forwards and pulls the door open motioning inside. His dad must be unbelievably angry at him. Passed the point of pissed.

Peter walks by the suit, head hung low, and the door swings shut behind him before he gets the chance to look back. Within seconds, Peter can hear the suit taking off rocketing away. Pepper must know he’s back by now, so there’s no point in dragging this out any longer.

But he’s scared. Scared of what Pepper will say, scared that she will be disappointed in him. Disappointing Pepper was almost worse than disappointing his dad. Though she’s the only mother-figure he’s ever had, she has no obligation to keep him around—especially since she and Tony split up. He’s just some kid she knows.

The door is unlocked when he arrives, and Pepper freezes when she sees him. She looks frantic, letting her phone drop to the couch and rushing over to him.

“Oh, thank God,” she says, pulling him into a tight hug. “I was going to surprise you with dinner but when I got here you were gone and—”

“I’m sorry,” Peter chokes out. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Pepper holds him for a moment longer, rubbing his back and whispering comforting words to him. Eventually, she pulls away, and looking him square in the eye says, “Why don’t you go change into something warm?” She rubs his arms as if trying to generate heat—he must still be shaking. “And then you can come back out here, okay?”

Peter mutely nods before making his way down the hall. Sluggish, he changes into a hoodie and flannel pajama bottoms after drying his hair with a towel. As he’s about to return to the living room, he stops when he catches a glimpse of himself in his dresser mirror. Face pale white and eyes red, teeth chattering, he’s the perfect picture of someone who just went through their worst nightmare.

Back in the living room, he finds Pepper sitting on the couch, typing something out on her phone at an unprecedented speed. She looks up when she notices him and puts her phone away before patting the empty cushion to her left.

Instead of sitting like a normal person, Peter plops down on the couch and lets his head lie in Pepper’s lap. She doesn't say anything about it, though, and starts to run a warm hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” Peter says again, curling in on himself. “I scared you and now Dad hates me—”

“Peter,” Pepper says, stern but soft. “Your father could never hate you, so I don't want to hear you say it again. If you defected to the dark side, he would follow without a second thought.”

Peter sniffles twirling the string of his hoodie between two fingers. “He—He wouldn't talk to me. He’s so mad, he wouldn't s-say anything.”

Pepper sighs, “He had a panic attack, Peter.”

Peter freezes. He caused that?

“He got that worked up over me?” He asks. As far as he knows, he has never been the cause of one of his father's debilitating panic attacks. The thought makes him feel bad.

“Of course he did. He loves you more than anything and you were in danger. Why is that so hard to believe?” It’s a simple question with a simple answer. Peter’s worth issues all boil down to one thing.

“It’s just…” Peter hesitates. He’s never voiced this to anyone before, much less to someone as important to him as Pepper. “It’s like… the amount of effort we put in to make sure no one knows about me. I know he loves me. I know it’s not true, but it’s almost like… he’s ashamed.”

“Peter James Stark,” Pepper huffs. “I swear, you and your father are the same person. He absolutely does not think that of you!”

“I know!” Peter retorts. “God, I know! It’s just so hard to deal with, mentally. There are so many people who have it worse than me—I’m one of the most privileged kids on the planet—but I’m hung up on this one thing.”

“Don't compare your pain to others’, Peter,” Pepper says. “Just because you have money doesn't erase your trauma. If something happened to you, it would destroy us all. You are the brightest soul I’ve ever met.”

Peter blinks away his tears, turning his head further away. He idly notices that Pepper’s pajama bottoms are a pair that belong to his father.

“Then why do I feel like shit?”

Pepper hums, “Because you’re a teenage boy whose father is a literal superhero who risks his life on the regular. And you are one, too, now. Apparently. I gotta say—did not see that coming. And I’m an accountant.” Peter giggles. Pepper never fails to make him laugh. “And one day, you’ll grow out of it. You should try to enjoy these next few years because when the world finds out about a new Stark on the block, you’ll understand why your father kept it a secret for so long.

“He had a very troubled childhood, Peter. He just doesn't want you to turn out like him.”

Peter sniffles, “But I think he’s so great. Who could be better than him?”

“Ask him, and he’ll tell you.” Before Peter can protest, Pepper continues, “And between us? I’m not even going to ask about this whole… thing. That’s not in my job description. Tony already dragged me into this superhero business and I’m not getting dragged in by you, either. I teach you how to be a good CEO, and he teaches you how to save the world.”

Pepper might not be his mom, but she’s his Pepper. And that’s more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! ive been excited for this chapter for a while so i hope it lives up to expectations. i hope no one is too out of character. Anyways, the next few updates might be a little slow because the charger to my laptop broke and my old one is incredibly slow with the added bonus of a shitty keyboard. so, if there are any typos revolving around a T or Y being missing, thats why. 
> 
> i made a tumblr for marvel stuff! long time blogger, first time about the mcu. find me at spider--clown.tumblr.com. i might not be very active for the time being because, you know, laptop, but i will answer asks!! come talk to me!! 
> 
> i love you!!!!!!!!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter stress-eats and Tony really wishes that he could leave @spidey-watch a large donation on Patreon without it looking like he's endorsing vigilantism (which is illegal). So, a moderately-sized anonymous one will have to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which the author is very sorry for disappearing for nearly 2 months

Needless to say, Peter didn't get a lot of sleep that night. It was already late when Pepper turned in, forcing Peter to do so as well. It was easy to pass out after all the stress he had gone through, but he should have expected the dreams. The water. 

_ Oh, God. The water.  _

As if Peter’s aquaphobia wasn't already bad enough, caused by past drowning-related trauma where he wasn't even the one who drowned. After having finally experienced his worst fear, he can confidently say that it is one hundred times worse than his dreams portrayed it. The only problem now is that his dreams are more realistic than ever. 

The ropes of the parachute choking him, dragging him further down into the murky water. It’s so dark that Peter can’t tell if his eyes are shut or if the low light levels are a testament to how deep he is. The nylon of the parachute sheet wrapped around him like a body bag, ready to be dropped into the ocean for a burial at sea.

_ Don't think about it. Don't think about it.  _

Repressing things is bad, he knows from his father constantly telling him, but now really isn't the time to unpack that baggage. 

Thanks to his nightmare, Peter wakes up early—around four, to be exact—and decides that going back to sleep is overrated. His father will be back at some point in the afternoon according to what FRIDAY said last night. Peter knows that his dad loves him to infinity and back, but he can't help but be nervous about whatever might happen when they see each other again. Not only has Peter nearly died, but he has gotten his suit-hacking outed, messed around with the bad guys he was told not to go after, snuck out to a party, and ruined his father's trip to India. Other than the wedding, Peter knows that his father also had some business to deal with while he was away. 

Hungry and not wanting to face Pepper after their talk the night before, Peter decides to sneak to the kitchen to stock up on snacks before she wakes up and his dad eventually arrives. He swipes the box of sugary cereal that Pepper keeps for him, a bag of chips, and almost takes a bottle of water before he hesitates. Not that Peter is afraid of the water—that’d be really dumb. It’s just drinking water, after all. People need to drink water to live. It’s just that his throat hurts after all the coughing he did last night and— 

Peter closes the fridge and opens the freezer instead. If his cover is that his throat is sore, he might as well try to eat something soft. Ice cream it is, then. That has plenty of calcium in it, anyway, so it’s technically good for him and it might quench his thirst. To top off his early breakfast, Peter grabs a spoon and a bag of cherry cough drops before heading back to his room as quietly as possible. He’s picked all of the most unhealthy foods in the apartment, but it doesn't really matter now that he has to eat an entire family's worth of food in a day to sustain himself.

And so Peter plops down with his breakfast buffet—beside the window so that he can watch the sunrise—and considers his options. It’s rare that a child can look back on their life and pinpoint the actual worst thing that they’ve done, but Peter has never been normal, has he? The initial bite and keeping it from his dad was pretty bad, but the bite wasn't technically his fault. And the ill-health that followed him afterward was punishment enough. 

Wasn't nearly drowning punishment enough? Peter knows that he’s messed up, so if his dad could just drop it and pretend it never happened, that would be really cool. 

Peter doesn't actually eat for a while, only digging into his ice cream so that it doesn't completely melt and because he’s feeling sorry for himself. At some point he hears Pepper get up, business as usual even though it’s a Saturday morning. He  _ really  _ tries not to eavesdrop on her but it’s hard not to when you have super-hearing. She’s on the phone with Happy, he notes. While he can tune out Happy, he can’t help but overhear Pepper talking about lunch arrangements, schedules, and such. It’s only then that Peter realizes that he’s been sitting on the floor, staring at the brick wall across the street for an upwards of three hours. Time sure does fly when you’re having fun.

Well, he’ll most likely have to leave for home early after everything that’s happened. Best to start packing now. 

—

Peter is repeatedly emptying and refilling his duffle bag when he hears the front door creak open. His blood immediately freezes and his lungs stop taking in air for a brief moment. If he focuses, he can hear a nervous, faltered heartbeat in the next room. 

Listening to people’s heartbeat is creepy, he knows, and that's why he’s never mentioned it before. Regardless, Peter recognizes his father’s immediately. It’s not hard, considering the man’s nasty cardiograph, and the staccato beat is like a comforting, familiar song. 

Not comforting now, though. Maybe it would be if Peter weren't so worried about how pissed his dad might be. 

He and Pepper will probably talk for a couple of minutes before Peter is forced to meet his maker, so the boy makes the most of it. He rushes to refill his bag (leaving it much messier than his last few attempts) before returning to his blanket nest by the window. The warmth it emanates instantly makes him want to yawn, but Peter bites it back and sits up a little straighter.

All he wants to do is focus on the street outside—not whatever Pepper and his dad are talking about. The cars and the people and the pigeons and the screaming kids. The heating units in all the buildings up the block and snippets of the radios in the cars that fly by, all playing different music or talk shows or podcasts. Peter even hears a snippet from New York's (if not the world’s) finest podcast,  _ Just the Facts  _ with J. Jonah Jameson. Despite the constant slander against him being one of the main selling points on the show, Peter loves it anyway. It’s just too ridiculous to get upset at. 

But then there's a knock at the door. That’s something to get upset at. 

Peter doesn't answer nor tears his gaze away from the window, but he can hear the door creak open before clicking shut. Hesitant footsteps follow, Peter tensing up when they’re right behind him. Head bowed and eyes screwed shut, Peter awaits his doom. 

But it never comes. 

There’s a sniffle and a sigh. Before he knows it, his father has sat down next to him and is giving him a hug. Tight, warm, and  _ safe _ . Peter releases the breath stuck in his lungs all morning and finally relaxes. He shouldn't have expected his father to go off on him, after everything that’s happened, and Peter can’t find it in himself to be surprised at the development. He should have seen it coming. 

“I love you, Peter,” his dad murmurs, pressing a kiss to his temple. “So, so much. Don't ever doubt that.” Pepper must have told him about her and Peter’s troubling conversation last night, then. “I love you, but you’re killing me.” 

Peter hates that he understands. He’s knowingly and willingly tearing his father apart every time he goes out to fight crime. And Dad lets him because it makes Peter happy. 

But Peter isn't very happy, now. Really, he’s the opposite. 

“This is going to get  _ you  _ killed, Peter,” his father continues. His voice is smooth and calm, and his words come out as if he’s practiced them in a mirror even though Peter knows that’s something Tony Stark would never do. “And you may think no one would care, but you have no idea how wrong of an assumption that is. If you died—” Peter repositions himself so that he’s closer to his father, burying his face in the man’s chest and wrapping his arms tightly around him. “Ineffable. The result would be ineffable. Part of my soul would die.”

Peter doesn't want to imagine it. A world where his father has lost himself all because of Peter. 

“I know you hacked the suit despite the fact that you weren't supposed to go out while I was away—” Oh boy, here it comes. “I know you must have enlisted Ned to help you because you hate coding and wouldn't put in  _ that  _ much effort to disobey me—I hope—which means Ned knows. You snuck out to who knows where to do who knows  _ what _ , and you end up fighting the people I told you to leave alone. I told you that I would handle it, and yet you persisted. You scared Pepper to death and you almost died. Wanna explain?” 

Peter hates how casually his father lists off his offenses, the man’s gentle tone making Peter feel worse. 

“There… there was a party. I just wanted to have fun with Ned but before I got there, I saw a huge explosion. I had to check it out—someone might have been hurt. I guess I ended up chasing those guys because I didn't want them to get away, which was stupid of me in hindsight. I should have just left it alone and dealt with the buyer but—” 

“Why take your suit to the party?” Tony interrupts. “Why sneak out? You weren’t grounded. You could have asked Happy to take you if Pepper was working.” 

“It was faster,” Peter says, the lie gliding effortlessly across his tongue before he even realizes what he’s saying. “And I didn't want to ask Happy ‘cause he’s been so stressed about Moving Day.” 

His dad grumbles, “You could have still told Pepper where you’d be.” Peter winces. 

“I meant to come back before she would know I was gone,” he says. “It sounds horrible now that I’m actually saying it, but I didn't mean to… almost die.” He doesn't want his dad to think that he  _ wants  _ to die, because he really truly doesn't. But after everything he told Pepper, Peter would not be surprised if his dad thought a deeper issue was going on below the surface. 

Tony leans away and looks Peter in the eye, not saying anything. It makes the boy freeze, makes him want to look away but he can’t. He needs his father to  _ understand _ . 

But the way his dad is looking at him—so sad, so despondent—it makes Peter crumple. He takes in a shaky breath and lets out a horrible, ugly sob. Tony, ever the attentive parent, immediately springs into action, hugging his son and hushing him. 

“I-It was the w-water, Dad,” Peter chokes out, face buried in his father’s shirt, having to take extra care not to rip it as he clutches the fabric.

Peter feels another kiss land on the top of his head as his dad rubs gentle circles on Peter’s back. “I know, Bambi,” is all he says, but Peter gets it. Dad was afraid of water long before he was. 

“A-And you never asked for all this,” Peter continues, voice muffled by Tony’s shirt. “Y-You never asked to have a weird, mutated son. If that damn spider never bit me—” 

“ _ Hey _ ,” Tony cuts in, stern yet soft and so sure of himself. “I’m going to stop you right there. I think you are  _ amazing _ .” 

Peter stops in his tracks, taking in what he's just heard. Amazing. What a profound, understated word. He has always loved his powers, but he can’t help but think of how it was never in the planner for either of them. How hard it must have been to accept that your son has mutated, spider-spliced DNA, and how to move on and adapt. But  _ amazing.  _ His dad thinks he’s amazing. 

“What?” Peter sniffles, looking up to the man in question. Tony is smiling in an almost sad manner yet his eyes are so full of love. A hand brushes through his hair, sending a shiver up Peter’s spine. 

“I don’t care how weird you are, Peter,” the adoration on his father’s face is unfathomable, eyes shining with unquestionable, unfiltered love. “Weird doesn't always have to be bad. And I think you are marvelous. I don't hate what you are, kid. Even if you had six eyes, eight legs, and a set of fangs. And as reluctant as I am to say it—because I really don't want to encourage you to go off and fight more bad guys—this is who you were meant to be. I’m not a big believer of destiny or fate, but this was yours. I can tell.” 

Peter sags in pure relief. Of course his dad supports him, he made his suit after all, but hearing it like this hits differently.

“Really?” Peter asks, phantom tears still running down his face. 

Tony scoffs, “Well, yeah,” he says. “You always did get upset when a spider’s web got messed up.” 

“They work really hard on them.” 

“You know that from experience?” 

Peter’s face, if even possible after all that crying, turns a shade redder. “Yes. Yes, I do.” 

His dad directs Peter’s line of sight to his, and gives him a  _ we’re not done talking about this _ look. “So, the two of us have got to work together to make sure that Itsy Bitsy climbs up the waterspout again so he can spin his web.”

- 

So, Peter learns on the drive home, the suit has an emergency mode. Which honestly makes a lot of sense. 

Even though Ned and Peter (who was the moral support of the operation) disabled the suit’s outgoing communications and tracker, Tony can activate an emergency mode on the suit (the  _ Nobody Puts Baby In The Corner  _ Protocol). Because, as one of the smartest people in the world, of course he built in an entire emergency subsystem disguised as a military time function. Because why the hell would Peter give the suit’s clock settings any attention when an entire, brand new A.I. was sitting right there. And even if Peter wanted to disable the protocol, his father is adamant that no one but himself would ever be able to.

His father was quite smug about it all. Not that Peter’s complaining, because he would be dead without it. 

So, Pepper calls Tony and tells him that Peter is missing. Tony immediately checks spidey-watch, cursing himself for having his phone on Do Not Disturb while at the wedding he was attending, causing him to miss a good number of tweets about New York’s newest vigilante crashing into a number of house parties.

( _ “FRIDAY, have spidey-watch bypass all Do Not Disturb parameters, but give it a look over to make sure it’s actually important. No, wait, just have all the tweets sent to me regardless of importance. If Spider-Man trips on a sidewalk crack, I want to hear about it.” _

_ “Dad, you sound like J.J.J. right now.”  _

_ “We don't mention that name in this family, Pete. I expected better from you.” _ )

It’s at this point that he turns on  _ Nobody Puts Baby In The Corner _ , a process that requires at least three access codes and a retina scan from Tony’s FRIDAY-outfitted sunglasses. All the fuss is because this protocol can technically disable the entire suit if it gets into the wrong hands. But Tony only uses it to check Peter’s vitals, have FRIDAY summarize the last thirty minutes of the Baby Monitor, and activate an innate tracker hidden in the suit. One that positively cannot be turned off once it’s on. 

Once he sent his suit to save Peter, the situation was out of his hands. His son was drowning nearly eight thousand miles away and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. 

What happened next spoke for itself. 

So, Peter gets the suit taken away. Obviously. And he’s indefinitely grounded. Again. 

But at least he still gets to go to the decathlon meet in two weeks. Because if they win Nationals, it’ll look really good on Peter’s transcript. And Tony isn't going to let anything get in the way of his kid going to M.I.T., even if he’s currently being punished for going against direct orders not to be killed while his father was abroad. 

So, at least Peter won’t be too bored. Even so, he can’t seem to get those damn weapons out of his head. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I'm really sorry. But better late than never, right???? Also, sorry nothing really happens in this chapter. I know its kind of disappointing after such a long wait (and considering this one is super short. at least by my standards) but the next two are actually pretty cool. and after that is the epilogue which is also pretty action-packed compared to this one. anyways, you dont need to worry about me never updated because 1) the guilt would kill me 2) ive been thinking about how infinity war would go in this universe. just saying. it might take me a hot minute, but ill get there. i promise. i also havent read any iron dad since i last posted and i am excited to inform you all that i will be binging that shit immediately after this goes live. AND ffh is coming out next week so i should be very inspired. 
> 
> anyways. sorry for the long note and the long wait. thank you for being patient with me. ive got a lot going on. love you all dearly and i adore every comment!!! <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michelle scores the winning point at Nationals, Ned and Peter go thrifting, and Aaron Davis likes bread. Really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. No FFH spoilers shall ever grace this work.   
> 2\. I don't really feel one way or another on the whole Accords mess. I feel like both sides had good points and bad points and that the whole thing could have been avoided if everyone just talked to/trusted each other. That being said, this is written from Tony's/Peter's point of view, so obviously it's going to be skewed that way. The point is: this chapter contains light Cap bashing so if you don't like that sort of thing--ye be warned.

The final question asked at Nationals is so simple that Peter is too dumbfounded to ring his bell and answer. The sudden death round is a big deal, the questions usually being pretty hard, and the score was tied between the two schools. The next correct answer won the championship.

And the answer, of all things, was  _ zero _ . 

Luckily, Michelle Jones was quick to answer in his stead, Peter still too astonished that something so easy was in the question pool. The second it was announced that Midtown had won, the entire team crowded around Michelle, hugging her and congratulating her for a job well done. The energy in the auditorium was unparalleled, Midtown parents in the audience ecstatic at the win, jumping up and down whilst clapping. 

Peter takes a moment to scan the crowd during the chaos and finds his dad in his PTA geet up with practiced ease. Always sitting at the back in an aisle seat, wearing a ridiculous bucket hat and sunglasses combo with absolutely terrible khaki shorts and a golf polo. No one would ever give the man a second glance, much less think he was Tony Stark of all people. 

Tony complained about the outfit, but Peter thinks that the man secretly likes it. 

His dad isn't acting as garish as the rest of the parents so that he doesn't draw any attention to himself, but Peter can see him smiling brightly at the team. Peter nods his head at his father who throws up some finger guns in return, making the boy roll his eyes before promptly choosing to ignore his embarrassing dad.

He wasn't going to come at first, but there was still a mess of business to deal with thanks to the Accords, so he moved up a few appointments in D.C. so that he could knock out two birds with one stone. They haven’t seen much of each other thanks to them staying at completely different hotels and Tony being busy, but Peter knows that they have arranged for his dad to take him home early instead of him going back on the bus. You could say it was to get in some quality father-son bonding, but Peter knows better. Despite the Decathlon win, he’s still grounded. Which means that he’s not allowed to have fun with his class at the capital’s various monuments. Michelle had commended him for it when she found out, though, claiming he was being a good activist for opting out of touring the places built by slaves. Peter didn't have the heart to tell her it was just because he was grounded, but he supported her cause nonetheless.

So Peter is resigned to the four-hour ride home with his dad, the only real unpleasant factor being that he knows they could easily take a jet and it would shave three hours off the trip. The ride isn't so bad, though, thanks to the father/son bonding playlist Peter has taken great care to curate. 

It isn't until they've gotten out of the abhorrent traffic of Philadelphia that Peter senses a shift in the atmosphere of the car. A glance at his dad proves his suspicion to be correct—the man has his brow furrowed with a displeased expression on his face.

Tony notices Peter staring, doing a comical yet subtle double take before returning his eyes to the highway. “We’ve got some things to discuss, kid.” Peter tries not to look too disappointed at this, watching his dad turn the stereo down so that it’s not a distraction. Queen’s  _ Hammer to Fall  _ had just started playing. 

“I figured,” Peter says, settling deeper into his seat. This won't be fun. 

“I know you’ve been grounded for two weeks already,” Tony says, subconsciously tapping a beat out on the steering wheel despite the music’s volume being so low. “And you know you’re not being punished because you—you got hurt, right?”

“Right,” Peter heart rate spikes ever so slightly at the mention of the events that took place at the party. “That was just a byproduct of my stupidity.” 

“Wrong, Pete, you’re not stupid. Just because you sometimes do stupid things doesn't mean that you’re stupid. You just don't think, sometimes, but that’s alright because I don't either,” his dad sighs. His hands fidget in a clear show how uncomfortable talking about Peter almost dying makes him, but he’s determined to keep both hands on the wheel. “So, I’ve decided you’re only grounded for another week but no Spider-Man for… until I say so.” 

Peter bites his tongue, fighting back a remark about how he  _ needs  _ to be out there helping the people of Queens—how it isn't fair to them—because he knows that it’ll just make the situation worse. Even though the citizens of his second home shouldn't be put in danger just because Peter is in trouble with his dad. 

“I want to get everything with these weapons dealers dealt with before you get back out there,” Tony continues. “They've been to blame for your last two incidents, but I’ve got a lot on my plate right now. Secretary Ross has been down my throat about the Accords and finding the Rogues, not to mention Moving Day and everything surrounding that. So I really need you to be lowkey for a little bit while I get everything settled.” 

“But you know where they are, don’t you?” Peter asks. “You have to—maybe they could help with the weapons!” Maybe if his dad and the Captain could get back on the same page, everything could go much smoother. “Captain America knows all about taking down evil organizations, so I’m sure he would be really useful in this situation!”

“Peter,” Tony grits out, agitated. “I’m going to tell you this once, so you better be listening real good. I would sooner move us to  _ remote fucking Alaska _ with  _ no electricity  _ than give Steve Rogers the slightest iota of knowledge concerning your existence.” 

Peter’s blood runs cold.

His father doesn’t elaborate on that (frankly, bizarre) statement any further, and the ball is in Peter’s court now. But how does someone respond to that? He’s never heard his father so frigid before. He knows that Cap and his dad had spats before, but it was like they were best friends up until everything with the Accords happened. 

“Why?” Is all Peter can think to say. Tony grips the steering wheel a little bit harder and Peter takes the time to remind himself that it’s not  _ him _ his father is mad at—it’s Steve Rogers. 

“Now isn’t the time to talk about this—“

“I just want to know why! I’m not fighting you on it, it’s just that you’ve just said something very suspicious and I have reason to be concerned!” 

His dad glances at him, giving Peter just enough time to catch the glint of ‘ _ is this kid being serious right now? _ ’. 

Fire on his tongue, Peter continues, “I’ve never been given any good reason as to why I shouldn’t trust him—except what happened in Germany but from what I understand he was just trying to help his friend—so please, I’m all ears!” 

His father exhales deeply, like a dragon breathing fire. Maybe he shouldn’t have pinned this all on him while they were on the road but under any other circumstance, they’d never get through the conversation. His dad would sooner hide than answer Peter’s questions on the sensitive topic. 

“You don’t get it,” Tony grits out. “You don’t understand the whole situation—you don’t even know who that  _ friend _ was or what he did.” 

“How am I supposed to?” Peter asks, defeated. “You don’t tell me anything. I get all my information from  _ fucking BuzzFeed. _ ” He wouldn’t usually break out the Advanced Swear Words while speaking to his father, but it seems appropriate given the current situation. 

“What went down involves classified information from the government—details you, a civilian, need not be privy to,” Tony says, frustrating Peter further. Will he listen for just one second?

“I’m not a civilian, though,” Peter points out. “And even if I were, I didn’t ask for the gory details of the Accords. I asked  _ you _ , my father, why he suddenly stopped trusting a close family friend.” His debate elective from freshman year sure is coming in handy right now. 

Tony groans, possibly questioning why anyone ever thought it would be a good idea to raise a kid with Pepper Potts and himself as the parents. “Fine,” he says after a moment of careful deliberation. If Peter wants the truth then he’ll get it. “But first of all, you are a civilian. Vigilantism is  _ very  _ illegal but it doesn't make you special. You’re still a civilian, only breaking the law, and if anyone found out that I endorsed it… well, I’d be in big trouble. Got it?” 

“Fine. Now stop stalling.” He’s on the edge of his seat but his excitement seems a little misplaced upon seeing how uncomfortable his father looks. One might not think Tony Stark could pull off such a look, but after knowing him for so long it’s not hard to tell. His fingers drum out a beat that doesn't match the song that’s playing and he’s sitting straight up instead of leaning back in his seat. 

“Steve…” Tony trails off. Peter can already tell that he’s going to get a heavily censored version of what happened but he’s glad that he’s getting anything at all in the first place. “Okay, you know what? Let’s put it like this: your mother, Mary—”

The hairs on the back of Peter’s neck immediately stand up. It’s very uncommon for his father to ever mention his mother, at least not straight to Peter’s face. There wasn't any bad blood there—his parents actually got along fine—but his mother wasn't ready for a child by the time he came along, so she let his dad take care of him instead. It just wasn't something that they ever talked about.

“What about her?” He asks, concerned as to where this conversation was going. 

“She died in 2004 in a plane crash, right?” Peter can tell that his father says it in an extremely careful manner so that it doesn't upset him, even though they both know it’s unlikely that will happen. Peter never really knew his mother long enough to truly have reason to grieve her death—he was too young. Sure, he was sad about it, but it never really affected him the way it might have if he were older. 

“Now, I want you to imagine that… for whatever reason, you never learn this but Ned does. Ned knows what happened but he keeps it from you because he thinks he’s protecting you but—in reality—it’s none of his business, right?” 

Peter furrows his brows. The hypothetical situation that has just been presented to him is insane. “Um… sure? Okay?” 

“I can tell this isn't hitting home with you,” his father says, deadpan. 

Peter huffs, “Well, it’s crazy, what do you expect me to think? If all of this is about telling the truth, then why don't you just tell me? Instead of being upfront with me you’re spinning a yarn about how Ned killed my mom.”

“That—!” Tony blurts, staggered by Peter’s gross misunderstanding. “I didn't say he killed her!”

“Well, it wasn't very clear!”

“Okay, okay, okay, fine! Forget I brought that up! You want the truth, you’ll get it! This is your last chance to hop off the truth train!” 

And Peter actually hesitates. Questions whether or not he actually wants to this damning piece of information about Steve Rogers.

“I—“ Peter sighs, conflicted. He wants to know, yes, but forcing it out of his father doesn’t seem right. “No, I guess I don’t. But I have a hypothetical question of my own to ask instead.” 

Tony visibly relaxes at this, but his reverie doesn’t last long. 

“If you were… out of the picture,” Peter starts, cutting off his dad when he begins to protest the notion that he would ever leave his son behind. “Hypothetically. If I were in trouble and needed help—in dire need of help—would you trust Steve to save me if you asked him to? I know you said that you didn’t even want him knowing about me but… if it were life or death? If it was me, would you trust him?”

Tony doesn’t reply for the longest time, but Peter doesn’t push it any further. It takes so long that he almost moves to turn the volume back up,  _ Hammer to Fall  _ is long gone by this point, but his father interrupts before he gets the chance. 

“Steve is a complicated man. I might never forgive him for what he did and if I do, I certainly won’t forget it.” Tony speaks in a softer manner than before, “And he hurt me in more ways than I think he realizes. But, hypothetically, if it were the end of the world and my dying wish was for him to protect you… yes. I would trust him to follow through with it.”

Peter smiles, eyes sliding shut and relaxing in his seat. Steve might be flawed, but he was still a good man. Or, at least that’s what Peter liked to imagine. It’s strange to know so much about a man you’ve never met, but Peter felt safer knowing that his list of handlers had been extended by one. Dad to Pepper to Uncle Rhodey to Happy to Dr. Banner to…. Steve. Eventually. 

“But again, that’s hypothetical,” his father amends. “That’s if the world has truly gone to shit with no one else available. Hopefully, it’ll never come to that but regardless: you’re a kid. A baby. Steve couldn’t just stand by and watch as someone smothers a baby. I don’t think anyone could. So, the bar is pretty low.”

\--

Peter wants to state, for the record, that he doesn't like disobeying his father. And if anyone looked at the last few months out of context, he’d be the worst kid on the planet. Well, even in context, it was pretty bad.

The weapons dealers reside in the back of his head all day, every day. Knowing that those people are out there in Queens, wreaking havoc, supplying the general public with incredibly dangerous weapons? The thought makes Peter cringe. Knowing that he could be doing something about it but isn't?  _ That  _ makes him feel sick. 

But it isn't until he’s scrolling through Twitter, procrastinating instead of writing his English paper, that he decides he  _ will  _ do something about it. 

**Friendly Neighborhood Spidey-Watch** **™ | @spidey-watch**

        |  _ No sightings have been reported in twenty-one days. This is officially Spidey’s second longest disappearance. If you see Spider-Man, feel free to email us (neighborhoodspiderwatch@gmail.com) with the location and time of your sighting or shoot us a dm. Please only send serious information.  _

**Friendly Neighborhood Spidey-Watch** **™ | @spidey-watch**

        |  _ Please stop sending us Daredevil sightings. Check below our pinned tweet to see our thread on how to tell the difference between Daredevil and Spider-Man and contact @DDlookout if you have spotted Daredevil. _

Daredevil’s dad probably doesn't keep him from doing… whatever it is that Daredevil does. 

Peter almost ( _ almost _ ) decides to try and contact Daredevil to try and get his help with the weapons but he quickly changes his mind. Just because they’re both vigilantes doesn't mean that Daredevil has to be nice to him and Peter doesn't even know who the guy is. Other than the fact that he wears red and operates in Hell’s Kitchen, Peter knows nothing about him.

Besides, the weapons dealers are Queens’ problem, not Hell’s Kitchen. Peter is the protector of the neighborhood—no one else.

But where to start? He doesn't have his suit anymore so he can’t ask Karen for help and getting FRIDAY involved is just asking for trouble. Peter has to do this on his own… but where to start?

Finding the weapons dealers sounds like a good place to begin but Peter has no idea how to find them. If he could get the jump on them then he might be able to stop them but all that he knows is that their base of operations is in Queens.

So that’s where he starts. Peter closes his word document (the paper isn't due for a couple of days anyway, so he still has time) and opens Google instead. His first stop is to the NYPD’s website to look at mugshots taken from a precinct in Queens (admittedly, he already had this page bookmarked. He likes to check it when he comes back from patrol to make sure that the police got everyone he left for them. He shouldn't really have access to this information but FRIDAY helped him get it a few months back).

Scrolling through all of the listings is truly a mind-numbing experience. It’s so boring that even putting on some music only helps for a little while. He has the list sorted into alphabetical order and he’s only just finished looking through all the ‘C’ last names despite the fact that he’s been working on it for hours. 

Crying from the frustration of it all sounds really appealing but Peter never gets to give it a chance. There on the screen of his laptop, the mugshot of Aaron Davis is staring back at him. The man is definitely the customer from that night at the bridge, Peter decides. And upon closer inspection, he has an address in Queens—Slott Avenue.

So if Peter goes to this guy’s house he might be able to trail him and get him alone to ask a few questions. Sure, it’s borderline stalking but… Peter’s not gonna hurt the guy. 

But as he’s writing the address down on a scrap piece of paper, his second problem surfaces in his mind. The suit. 

Peter Parker can’t just stroll up to this guy and demand information on Queens’ weapon-dealing underbelly. And Spider-Man is grounded—Peter doesn't have his original suit (due to his dad taking it to the compound to reverse-engineer the original web-shooters) or the one his dad made for him. And even if he did, FRIDAY would tell him immediately is Peter went out in the suit. And for the cherry on top: he has to be covert as well because his dad will find out if spidey-watch tweets about a Spider-Man sighting. 

So… new suit, right? That’s his only option?

Peter groans and lets his head fall into his hands. Making the suit the first time was difficult enough but now not only does he have to do it again but different, he has to make new web-shooters as well. Unless… 

He scrambles to his closet and throws the door open. He has to climb up the door frame a little to reach it, but on the top shelf and pushed to the very back sits a nondescript shoebox. Peter grabs it and drops down before discarding the top of the box.

The contents of the box don't look very interesting, just cards and scraps of paper. A pair of gold star-shaped cufflinks rattle in the bottom of the box—they were his father’s, but Happy gave them to him when Peter was in his care all those years ago when his dad was kidnapped. Peter wonders if his father ever noticed them missing, but the thought is brushed away when he sees what he’s looking for. 

A pair of clunky, prototype web-shooters.

Peter makes his way to his bed and plops down, setting the box next to him and inspecting the gadgets. They’re one of the first pairs he ever made and it shows. As he straps it onto his wrist he makes note of how much heavier it feels compared to his newer one, how very not at all discreet it is when he pulls his sleeve over it. But it’s a start—at least now he won’t have to start from scratch. With a few modifications, these could be better than the last iteration he made for his homemade suit. Now all that was left was the actual suit. 

\--

So Peter, after enlisting the help of Ned, goes thrifting. 

“If you’re rich, then why are we here?” Ned asks, going through a rack of summer-y clothes that wouldn't help Peter in the slightest. 

After thinking on it all day at school, Peter has decided that black would be the best idea to base his new suit around. And since he can’t make a spandex one in a short period of time, he has to make one similar to the Spidey Mark I.

“'Cause I don't want dad seeing me using my card at some sporting goods store then seeing me come home with an entirely black fitness outfit,” Peter explains. Frowning at a pair of sweatpants that would be perfect if not for the giant  _ Adidas _ logo running along the pant leg, he continues, “That would be suspicious. I can spend cash here and he won't notice.”

Ned grimaces. He expressed his displeasure at Peter breaking his dad’s rules again (especially after he helped the first time) but he agreed to tag along anyway. “Why can’t you just tell the police or something?” He holds up a garish shirt that happens to be covered with a spider web pattern—Peter shakes his head, much to Ned’s chagrin.

“The police suck,” Peter says flatly as he moves down the rack. Ned furrows his brows. 

“Have you been hanging around Michelle when I wasn't looking? The police aren't  _ that  _ bad…” He bobs his head back and forth, seemingly weighing the pros and cons of law enforcement. “Okay, well, a lot of them suck but my uncle is a police officer in Midtown and he’s not bad! We could tell him!” 

“Please, Ned,” Peter whines, “I’m sure your uncle is a great guy, but I don't want to get them involved. My identity could be at stake and I don't really trust the NYPD enough to deal with… something this sensitive.” 

Ned shrugs and holds up a hoodie for Peter to see. It checks most of his boxes and even has a front pocket, which is a plus. It’s a size or two too big but he can look past that—it would keep the bulky web shooters hidden better anyway. 

“Hold onto that,” Peter says, nodding. “That’s the best we’ve found so far.” 

Ned grins and moves onto a display featuring a copious amount of glasses/general eyewear. “Will your dad get mad at me for helping you again?” He asks, “Because I really don't want him to make us stop being friends.” 

“He won't get mad at you.” Not finding a suitable pair of sweats, Peter decides to look at the rack of jeans closer to where Ned is standing. “You’re just helping me shop. If he asks, you didn't know anything about this.”

“But Peter, that’s a lie—”

“And he wouldn't get rid of you, either. He wouldn't do that to me  _ or  _ you.” Peter perks up when he spots a pair of dark wash jeans (or are they black? It’s hard to tell in this lighting) that might do him some good. They’re a bit torn at the knees, which he isn't a fan of, but he figures that Spider-Man’s identity won't be leaked because someone caught sight of his kneecaps. Besides, if he does this right, no one will be able to tell it’s him.

“I don't know about this, dude…” Ned warily says. “I really don't want to get on his bad side.”

“He won't confront you about it,” Peter turns to his friend and gives him a sad smile. “If anyone’s getting in trouble, it’s me. I’m sorry I’m getting you involved but… after this, don’t get involved.” 

Ned goes to reply but gets distracted by something shiny in the corner of his eye. Peter suppresses a groan when he sees what his friend has found—an absolutely horrid pair of motorcycle goggles with silver reflective lenses. 

“Oh, I absolutely will not—” 

“But Peter!” Ned whines, grinning from ear to ear, “What else do you see that’ll work? These are great!”

Peter hates that Ned is somewhat correct. No one would be able to see his eyes behind the lenses and these were reminiscent of lab goggles in how they create a seal around the face so that no light can get into his peripheral vision. They’re only a little better than a nice pair of sunglasses in the terms of not letting in light, but they’ll do. Peter made the lenses of his Mark I goggles out of an old welding mask he found in the trash, so obviously, those were far superior but now he doesn't have time to do it again. He’s got to find Aaron Davis and stop those dealers as soon as possible. 

“Fine,” Peter says, hanging the goggles on his arm for safe keeping. Ned jumps a little at this, relishing in his win. If Davis laughs at Peter for this, he’s blaming Ned. 

“What do we have left?” Ned asks once he has finished his victory dance. 

“Gloves and a mask,” Peter lists off before heading to a bin filled with the former, Ned in tow.

They sift through the gloves in comfortable silence and Peter counts six that aren't attached to a match with a safety pin. Most of them have holes or other deformities but there are a few that have braved the harsh New York winter unscathed. 

“So, Homecoming…” Ned starts, dropping a single glove into the pile that they have assigned the matchless ones to keep them out of the way. “Are you gonna ask Liz?” 

“I don't even know if my dad is gonna let me go,” Peter eyes the pair of  _ Dora the Explorer  _ knit gloves that Ned holds onto for a couple of seconds longer than necessary. “And if he does, I think I’m too scared to ask her to go with me.” 

“You totally should!” Ned exclaims. “I’ve noticed that she’s been friendlier than usual after the win at Nationals—which we couldn't have done without you, might I add.”

Peter blushes and busies himself with the gloves, sticking a hand deep into the drum in an effort to find something that’s not made of yarn, cotton, or wool. 

“I dunno,” Peter says. “I still have three weeks to decide, anyway.” Ned obviously isn't pleased with the answer, but he doesn't push it further. “What about you? Do you have anyone in mind?” 

Ned’s face immediately turns a shade redder, piquing Peter’s interest. 

“Who?” Peter asks, excited like a puppy getting a new toy. “You have to tell me! Who do you like?”

“C’mon man, don't be like that!” Ned squirms, embarrassed

“You know who I like!” 

Ned presses his lips together in a firm line, “It’s not a big deal…” he trails off. 

“But…?” 

“But…” Ned sighs. “I just think Betty is cute, is all.” 

Peter’s eyebrows shoot up, “Betty Brant? On the Decathlon team with us? Betty who does the morning announcements with Jason?” 

“Yes! What other Betty do we know!” Ned’s expression shifts to a downcast one, “I’m not gonna ask her, though. She hardly knows who I am.”

“That sucks,” Peter says. You’d think that he would encourage his friend to go after Betty, but he knows that nothing he can say will be able to convince Ned to try. “Well, maybe one day it’ll happen. Just be  _ friendlier than usual _ .”

Ned snorts at that but offers nothing else to the conversation. Not that their Homecoming plans are important at the moment, because Peter’s finger has just grazed something that’s definitely  _ not  _ yarn, cotton, or wool. 

He pulls it up and discovers a  _ glorious _ pair of worn out leather gloves. How they’ve gone so long without being bought, Peter doesn't know. Maybe someone stashed them in the bottom of the barrel so no one else would find them, but they’re Peter’s now. 

Ned makes a remark on how cool they are, which Peter agrees to. He inspects the fingertips of the gloves, frowning. 

“What is it?” Ned asks, clearly confused as to what he’s doing. 

“I’m wondering if the fingertips are too thick for me to… stick through.” Peter explains. “It’s been a problem before but if it’s an issue now I’ll just cut them off—that’s what I did the first time, anyway. I might just have perpetually bloody fingertips from scraping against the bricks of buildings, but whatever.” 

When he glances back up, Ned is just staring at him. 

“You are so cool,” Ned says quickly. “I’ve never considered how that works before! Do you know how it works? I’m sure you do because it’s your body but, still. I can’t believe I’ve never asked before—” 

“Ned,” Peter says, chuckling. “I’ll tell you about it another time. When we’re not in public and I actually understand how it works. You’ll be the first I tell.” 

“So cool, so insanely cool,” Ned says it mostly to himself, making Peter laugh a little harder. “And I’m not saying this just 'cause you’re my friend, but I think you might be cooler than Thor—” 

“Ned!” 

“''Cause Thor is an alien so it makes sense that he can do crazy stuff but—but you’re a person!”

Peter brushes it off with a, “ _ Sure thing, Ned _ ,” because if he’s being honest, the whole thing still makes him a little uncomfortable. Sure, he loves it but at the same time, he hates how he doesn't understand. Hates how he can’t explain to Ned how his sticking works because Ned it right—it’s his body. He should understand how it works. 

“So, masks,” Peter swiftly changes the subject. “I somehow doubt we’ll find something that’ll work here.” 

Ned contemplates it for a moment before getting a downright scary look in his eye. 

\-- 

“I look so dumb,” Peter says, pulling down the red bandana that sits in front on his face. It belonged to Ned and it was his idea in the first place but that doesn't mean that Peter has to be nice about it. “I’m not an outlaw! No one would take me seriously!” 

“You are an outlaw, though,” Ned says from his spot on his bed. “Technically.”

“Yeah, but—” 

“And with that, the goggles, and your hood up, no one will be able to tell who you are!” Ned, on the other hand, likes Peter’s  _ costume _ very much. “Plus, you look nothing like Spider-Man!” 

Peter turns back to the mirror Ned has perched on his dresser and grumbles, “That’s 'cause I look like a damn cowboy.” Hearing a giggle come from Ned’s direction, Peter pulls the goggles off and gives him a glare, instantly shutting Ned up. 

“You don't look bad, man,” Ned says sincerely. “For real. You said you didn't want anyone to know who you are and this is how. If you say hidden, only a handful of people will see you anyway.”

Peter looks down to the goggles in his hands and attempts to wipe away a smudge with his thumb, only making it worse in the process. This whole situation was humiliating. Peter was a superhero for crying out loud—one just trying to protect his neighborhood but can’t because his overprotective dad won't let him. 

He looks back to the mirror and sighs—the rest of his “suit” isn't that bad. It’s just the goggles and a damn  _ bandana  _ that makes him look stupid. “I guess I have to, don't I?” He mumbles. “I’ve got to get these weapons out of Queens as soon as possible. I don't have time to be a diva about how I look while doing it.” 

Ned doesn't say anything else, but the look in his eyes is clear. He obviously feels bad for Peter—remorseful for his friend who feels he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.

\--  

The plan is fairly simple. Peter stays the night at Ned’s (with his dad’s permission) and he sets off for Aaron Davis’ house early the next morning. He’s dressed in his new suit (tentatively named the Mark Zero for how much Peter hates it) but without the two accessories that make it awful so that people on the street don't think he’s going to rob them. Once he arrives, he finds an alley and begins his ascent up the building across the street from the one that Aaron lives in (he did end up having to cut off the fingers of his gloves, much to his disappointment. They would have been warm in the winter if not for that).

From there, he waits on the roof. Texting Ned updates every now and then and even having a short conversation with his dad about where they’ll eat that night. Peter is able to win the man over with Thai after complaining about the amount of Italian they've been having as of late. 

By the time that eight comes around Peter is almost asleep again due to how boring his stake-out is, but he jumps when he notices a man exiting the apartment building. A man who is, without a doubt, Aaron Davis. 

He watches the man as he heads to a parking lot next to the building and hops into a car, Peter immediately gearing up to follow. Following this man makes him feel a little gross but he doesn't have time to think about that at the moment—he has a car to follow.

Peter trails the car on rooftops, only using his webs when he absolutely has to. Initially, he was hoping Davis would walk to wherever he was heading like most New Yorkers so that Peter could follow on foot. He’d look less suspicious unlike now, with him parkouring across Queens and hoping that no one will notice. 

By the time that Davis pulls into a parking garage, Peter’s spidey-sense hasn't gone off, so he figures that he hasn't been caught just yet. Perched on the wall of a building next door, Peter watches as the man’s car goes up and around the lot before he eventually parks on an emptier floor towards the top. At least Peter has that going for him. 

Once the man has made his way to the elevator (and taking the stairs when he gets tired of waiting), Peter jumps between the buildings and crawls inside via one of the windows. There aren't a lot of places for him to hide, he realizes when he surveys his surroundings. Usually, he would stick it out on the ceiling in a situation like this, but without his actual suit, he feels a bit naked. 

For a second he considers waiting in the man’s car, but he tosses that idea out the window a moment later when he realizes what an awful plan that would be. 

How cool would it be to turn invisible? That would be really helpful right now. 

Sighing, Peter turns back around and heads for the window he entered through. He’ll just have to pay close attention to the car from the building her was perched on previously. Besides, the entrance to the alley between the buildings is blocked off with a tall fence, so hopefully, no one will spot him in the meantime. 

And so the second waiting game of the day begins.

\--

When Aaron Davis shows up from behind the doors of the elevator, Peter’s heart immediately begins hammering in his chest. He hasn't felt this nervous since his very first patrols but when you think about it, this is technically his very first interrogation. 

Peter leaps from one roof to the next and crawls to the window, peeking in from the top. This is when Peter realizes that he really doesn't have a plan. He figured he would just web the guy up somewhere and ask a few questions. But Peter doesn't have time to worry about it anymore—Davis is swiftly approaching the car.

Peter silently drops down through the window and begins his approach while Davis has his back turned, now standing at the trunk of his car while fiddling with a set of keys. Peter raises a trembling hand in what feels like slow motion, preparing himself to shoot a web.

It’s the suit causing this, that much is obvious to him. His mask was his security blanket and now he was out in the cold. The web hasn't been fired yet—he can still turn back and pretend that this never happened. 

But before he can do that, Davis gets his trunk open and Peter’s instincts kick in. He shoots a web at the man’s hand, sticking it to the hood of his car’s trunk. Peter’s heart is surely going to explode. 

Davis doesn't seem too surprised at the development, but he does cock a brow when Peter enters his line of sight. 

Before Peter can get out his first word, Aaron says, “I wouldn't know it was you if not for this white stuff,” he then begins to load his groceries into his car as if nothing happened. 

“I need information,” Peter barely manages not to stutter, “And you’re gonna give it to me. Now.” He doesn't sound very imposing, even as he’s actively trying to make his voice deeper, but there’s nothing he can really do about it. 

“What’s up with your outfit, man?” Aaron certainly doesn't sound like he feels he’s being threatened. “You look like a fool.” 

Peter’s cheeks heat up, “This is my… reconnaissance suit,” he defends, unsure and very unconvincing. 

“You look like a cowboy.”

“It—It doesn't matter. Listen, man,” Peter steps closer and points a finger at the man in an attempt to look threatening, “Who is selling these weapons? I need to know. Give me names… or else!”

Aaron just stares at him, deadpan, before slamming the trunk shut. Peter jumps back a foot, startled by Aaron’s sudden movement.

Aaron relaxes and tilts his head at Peter, “You ain’t ever done this before, huh?” He chuckles when Peter slumps forward, defeated. 

“These guys are selling weapons that are crazy dangerous,” Peter explains, though Aaron must be somewhat aware of this already. “They can't just be out on the streets. Look, if one of them can just cut Delmar's bodega in half…”

Aaron perks up at the mention of the famous deli, “You know Delmar's?”

“Yeah, best sandwich in Queens.”

“Sub Haven's pretty good.”

“It's too much bread.”

“I like bread.”

“Come on, man,” Peter whines. “Please?”

Aaron’s eyes soften—which Peter thinks is  _ very  _ strange. The man shakes his head at the ground before sighing, “The other night, you told that dude,  _ ‘if you shoot somebody, shoot me’ _ . It's pretty ballsy. I don't want those weapons in this neighborhood. I got a nephew who lives here.”

Peter comes closer to the man, leaning on his car. Hopefully he isn't overstepping. “Who are these guys? What can you tell me about the guy with the wings?”

“Other than he's a psychopath dressed like a demon? Nothin’. I don't know who he is or where he is.” Peter leans his head back and suppresses a groan. “I do know where he's gonna be, though.”

 Peter nearly jumps for joy at this omission, “Really?” 

“Yeah,” Aaron says. “This crazy dude I used to work with, he's supposed to be doing a deal with him.”

“Yes!” Peter exclaims. “Yes! Thank you so much!” 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Aaron cuts through Peter’s excitement. “I didn't tell you where. You don't have a location.” 

God, he’s getting ahead of himself. “Right, of course. Yeah, my bad. Silly. Just…” This is so embarrassing. “Yeah. Where is it?” 

Aaron looks Peter up and down, unimpressed. “Can I give you some advice?” 

“Hmm?” Advice from a criminal? His dad would kill him if he could see this. 

“You gotta get better at this part of the job.” 

Peter scoffs, crossing his arms, “I don't understand—I’m intimidating!” 

“Staten Island ferry,” Aaron says, “Eleven.”

A ferry. Shit. 

“Oh, that’s soon,” Peter’s excitement dies down a couple of notches. A ferry. Of course. This is without a doubt some kind of karma. Snapping out of his haze, Peter points to the hand he stuck to the car, “Hey, that’s gonna dissolve in two hours!” 

As he begins to make his way to the stairwell behind them, Aaron objects with a, “No, no, no, no! Come fix this!” 

“Two hours!” Peter turns towards Aaron but continues walking in the opposite direction, “You deserve that!”

“I got ice cream in here!” Okay, so maybe he doesn't deserve it. Aaron seems like a pretty cool dude if you look past his criminal record (which doesn't include murder—always a plus) and he helped Peter, but he can’t do anything about the web regardless. 

“You deserve that!” Peter repeats, smirking. “You’re a criminal! Bye, Mr. Criminal!”

\-- 

Staten Island ferry. Again, this has got to be his karma kicking in. 

Peter boards the ferry just like any other person (feeling a little sick, he must admit, due to him being on a boat and all), paying a fee that probably shouldn't have cost as much as it did, and scans the crowd of people in the sitting room. He’s about to give up and take his seat when he notices something worth his time. 

One of the men from the bridge. 

Peter sits nearby and focuses on the man’s voice, but it’s the guy sitting behind him who speaks. 

“He’s up front. Main deck.” 

“I hate this guy,” says the man from the bridge. 

“Just keep me posted.” 

Peter’s brows furrow at this, but at least he has a location now. He waits for Bridge Man to leave before he follows so as not to look suspicious, committing the other man’s face to memory instead. Once an appropriate amount of time has passed, he stands and heads to where the bathrooms are located. 

Luckily for him, the men’s room is empty and has a window that looks like it can be opened. He locks the door and puts on his “mask” before moving to inspect the window. The lock on it looks pretty strong and the window itself has a sort of water-tight seal around it—the thing can probably only be opened in case of emergency, only there due to some health code, but Peter counts his blessings where he can. The lock is a bit stuck thanks to years of never being used, but for Peter, opening it is as easy as opening a soda can. 

After making sure the coast is clear, Peter climbs out the window (not an easy feat) and sticks onto the hull of the ship. 

( _ Ignore the water. Ignore the water. Ignore the water. Ignore the water. Ignore the w—) _

He climbs up to the roof then crawls to the edge towards the front of this ship, just where the man said the other guys would be. Bridge Man is already there, talking to some other guy who looks  _ quite  _ intimidating, and holding a pair of keys out to him—

Oh, God. This is the part where Peter interferes, huh? 

Before he can get any more nervous, Peter shoots a web to the keys and snatches them out of the air with a “ _ Yoink!”  _

He jumps down to where three men are standing, Bridge Man, Intimidating Guy, and Other Person Who Peter Has Never Seen Before. 

“Hey guys!” Peter holds the keys up and jingles them a bit, “The illegal-weapons-deal-ferry was at ten-thirty! You missed it!” 

The two men who aren't Intimidating Guy pull out guns and aim them at him, but Peter is quick to disarm them, webbing them up and away before kicking Intimidating Guy (who has now pulled out a handgun of his own) off the boat. 

By now, Bridge Man has returned with that gauntlet Peter saw when he was being dragged behind their van. He ducks a punch from the man, forcing him to slam his fist between the slats of a gate in front of them. Peter shoots a multitude of webs at the gauntlet to keep the man in place before turning to Other Person and a fourth guy who has just emerged from the part of the ferry where all the cars are stored. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Not so fast!” He shoots a web at a motorcycle behind the two of them and flings the bike to the other end of the deck, the two men flying with it. “Are you guys okay? My bad. That was a little hard.”

Peter then returns his attention to Bridge Man, still stuck to the gate, and checks his web shooters to see if it needs to be reloaded.

“I gotta say, the other guy was way better with that thing,” He swaps an old cartridge out for a new one as the man struggles to free himself. Peter smirks, “I’m honestly… I’m—I’m shocked.” Ah, that’s a good name for Bridge Man. Shocker. 

Behind him, he can hear a new man running towards him from the aisle between the cars, a battle cry escaping his lips. Without a moment to lose, Peter fires shot after shot of webs at the man, sticking him to one of the interior walls. This would be a lot easier if he had his actual suit with all the different web combinations on it.

Further down the hall, Peter notices two other men standing by the white van from the bridge and he watches as the older one grabs the younger and repeatedly bashes his head on the side of the van, knocking him out in just a few blows. He then looks to Peter—it’s the one from the upper deck earlier—and  _ smirks _ . 

Peter readies himself to fight him, but before he can sprint down the hall, he’s interrupted by a “ _ Freeze! F.B.I.!”  _

...What? 

_ “Don’t move!” _

_ “Get on the ground!” _

_ “F.B.I.!” _

Suddenly there are seven men bursting out of doors around him, all pointing guns at him. Man, Peter has really had it with all these guns.

He puts his hands up in the air, suddenly very aware of his attire again, “What do you mean, F.B.I.?”

Before anyone has the chance to answer his ridiculously stupid question, everyone is distracted but the sound of metal crunching behind them. A pair of wings spring out of the van. 

The Vulture. That man from before was the Vulture. 

The F.B.I. agents turn away from Peter and point their guns at the Vulture (as if that would do anything to stop him) as the man flies towards them, destroying cars on his way. 

“Get out of the way!” Peter shouts as the men fire their guns at, as Aaron Davis put it best,  _ the  _ _ psychopath dressed like a demon _ . “Get out of the way!” Peter narrowly avoids a blast from whatever type of alien tech the Vulture has this time and grabs the agent closest to him, throwing the man into another to get them out of the way. 

Then the Vulture grabs a  _ car  _ with his  _ talons  _ and  _ throws it at him _ . 

Peter only gets hit by the front corner of the car but it still hurts like Hell and—hey, the Vulture is in open air now. Great. 

 The Vulture fires another blast at the gate that Shocker is stuck to, freeing the man and commanding, “Get to the top deck! We’re getting out of here!” 

Oh, no they ain’t. 

Peter shoots a web at Shocker as the man runs for a stairwell, but another one of the Vulture’s plasma blasts sever the connection before Peter can stop him. 

Next, he shoots a web at the Vulture himself, getting a hold of the man by one of his feet and pulling. The F.B.I. agents on one of the upper decks begin to shoot again, forcing the Vulture to retaliate by doing the same at them. 

Peter shoots at a car behind him and attaches that web to the one in his other hand. The car immediately begins to get pulled forward but finds itself wedged on a pillar, giving Peter enough time to hop to the level above where he tries once again to shoot at the Vulture. 

But the man fires at Peter again, causing him to lose his balance and go soaring over the water, only kept airborne by his connection to the Vulture. He doesn't have time to panic as he lets go of the web, reorienting himself so that he’s facing the ferry again and shooting more webs at the Vulture, swinging under him and eventually attaching the webs to the ferry once he’s back to the safety of the ship. 

This does little, though. The Vulture cuts the webs attached to him, using his wings like a pair of scissors. 

So if shooting at his feet and wings won't work, Peter will just have to go for the gun, then. 

He sticks himself to the ground and fires webs to the gun, yanking as hard as he can. The Vulture puts up a little fight, but he isn't strong enough to resist—even with his suit. 

Peter immediately turns his attention to the gun once is goes flying behind him, still charged up and firing from when the Vulture tried to use it last. The gun flops around like a fish on land as Peter shoots a copious amount of webs at it in an attempt to stick it to the ground. 

“You’re messing with things you don't understand!” 

Peter looks between the Vulture and the gun, a badass quip escaping him at the moment. Not that it matters, of course, because the gun begins to make some concerning noises. 

Under the web that Peter has trapped it under, the gun begins to overheat, breaking the webs and shooting wide, purple rays to the ceiling. Peter can only watch as the lasers cut through the length of the ship, as water begins to spurt up from the cracks like a geyser. 

Well, fuck. 

“Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.  _ Oh, God—” _

Again, not the time to panic. The boat is splitting in half. The Vulture is gone. All these people are gonna drown if he doesn't do something. It’s his fault and he’s the only one who can stop it. He’s panicking. 

The support structures. He can target the support structures of the boat and hold them together until—until someone comes to help. He can’t really weld the boat back together and he doubts the captain will just continue steering to land once Peter’s holding it together but—whatever. He’ll handle it when it comes to that. 

He jumps into action, shooting web after web to the pillars on each level of the boat, pulling them taught before moving onto the next one. He’s flipping and spinning around the pillars, shooting webs at every surface he can see until he reaches the opposite end of the boat. 

He takes a moment to rest as he surveys his work. The screams die down before arrupting in applause following a familiar, “ _ Yeah! Spider-Man!” _ Well, at least they recognize him. 

But then the strands begin to snap.   

Whether it’s because the boat got jostled due to the applauding crowd or Peter’s own mistake, he doesn't know, but he doesn't have the time to worry about it. He dives back into action, firing more webs before grasping at two strands that have just snapped, pulling them together himself. 

His body is on fire, muscles aching as pulls two halves of a  _ fucking boat  _ together. At the moment, he can’t tell if he’s screaming but he imagines that he probably is, considering how much pain he’s in.

But then the webs he’s holding onto loosen, and Peter is lowered to the ground. 

“What the hell?” Still dazed by the pain, Peter just lets it happen. 

Once he’s back to the ground (the sitting room he was originally in, in fact), he something in the corner of his eye rising up in front of one of the windows.

“Yeah! Iron Man!” 

Well, shit. 

\-- 

His father leaves the scene without saying a single word to him. Needless to say, Peter got the message. 

He sneaks down to one of the lower floors so that he can take off his “mask” where no one will see before pulling off his hoodie and tying it around his waist so that, hopefully, no one will recognize him.

Next, he decides to head for one of the exits, where lines of people wait to be put on one of the various rescue ships that were called in to save them from Peter’s massive fuckup. Before he boards the new boat, they check his ticket again (to make sure everyone is accounted for, he overhears) and send him off to sit wherever, he supposes, so he plops himself down on the floor and shuts his eyes. 

\--

It’s the boat’s horn that startles him awake, signally that they have reached land. The crowd (maybe one-third of what the ferry held) assembles into a sloppy line, gets their tickets checked again (to make sure no one jumped ship?), and are free to go about their days as normal again. 

Peter really doesn't know what to do, now. 

He makes his way away from the docks to ensure that he isn't in anyone’s way and checks his phone as he walks—a multitude of texts from Ned, who certainly saw the news and freaked out, and one missed call from his dad from before everything went wrong. As he’s scrolling through his missed notifications, he gets a new one—from FRIDAY’s automated messaging system. 

**FRIDAY (ﾉ^ヮ^)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧**

         _Come home. Dinner at Prachya Thai canceled._

He figures he deserves that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies!! longer chapter this week bc last weeks was so short. [no ffh spoilers pls dont post them in the comments] but who saw ffh? i think it was absolutely amazing. best mcu movie, easy. i went in with high expectations and it still blew me away. Anyways, i really like writing aaron davis. hes cool and he def sees miles in peter. maybe thats why he helped spidey. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> see you next time!!!

**Author's Note:**

> comments inspire me to work faster. so you should probably get on that.
> 
> thank you for all the lovely feedback!!!!!!! <3


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